#anyway the number is a bit of a stretch but its still a fair amount of art

[velmuu]

Looks at the seven thousand dnd related arts in my procreate folder and looks at this blog

[chickenparm]

if you've read this fic at all, then you know it's strictly silco/reader.

originally, it was written with vanco having been a thing in the past, and i removed that before posting, but every time I read it over after the fact it feels strange and unfinished.

so anyway, here's the original beginning that maybe explains why silco is characterized in the way that he is. it's largely the same so it's not the end of the world if you don't read this.

---

As a child growing up in less than ideal circumstances into a young man in downright abhorrent circumstances, Silco had accrued a fair amount of subtle-but-useful skills that served to keep him alive thus far. The things Silco had seen and done in his lifetime were numerous, stacking on top of one another to create the man that stood in the center of his bar and stared at the floor in a way that no one else seemed to understand - or even notice, if he were being honest.

It doesn’t catch his attention at first, if only because others just like it were ingrained into the very foundation of the building in ways that could never be removed. It’s not until the neon lights above catch it just right that it becomes clear the little droplets of blood trailing through the bar are fresh enough to still be tacky when the patrons walk over them.

Blood on the floor of The Last Drop, even fresh blood, is still not enough to catch his attention so thoroughly. It’s the way it meanders in a wobbling line from the front door to the bar, pausing long enough to leave more than a few in the same locale. They linger before beginning their trek once more to the side door that leads to the back rooms reserved for his trusted employees - not even those who worked in the bar frequented those rooms.

But Silco remembers them vividly, maybe too vividly. In another life, he’d walked this same trail before - sometimes alone, sometimes with another. A different man leaned on the bar to catch his breath and regain his balance, left a bloody fingerprint just on the edge of the bar in almost the exact same place. Stumbled on wobbling knees along the wall until he got to the doors that would take him to the very rear of the bar that held a secluded bathroom where he could manage his wounds in peace. Where no one would hear the sounds ripping through clenched teeth.

Colored curious, Silco follows that trail, uncaring of the stickiness that traps in the soles of his boots as he follows their footsteps to the letter. As his hand curls on the bar, thumb hovering over where the lost lamb’s mark lay, he can see flashes of a hand in the past, covered in fewer scars than it is now, its nails dirtier and its tendons stretching taut against skin that’s too thin to have eaten more than a single meal in days.

It’s a poor memory, one he no longer wishes to entertain, and his hand slides along the bar with more meat on his bones and a bit more backbone than he’d once had. More pride. That man is dead and gone, and in his place is one that clawed from the earth that had been thrown over his body to bury him. The grave wasn’t quite six feet, and the job had been done poorly.

There’s another thumb print on the handle of the door, smudged by Silco’s palm as he passes through the doorway and locks it firmly behind himself. No one would bother to cross this point, but there’s an old, ingrained habit inside of him that even after its owner is dead he cannot shake it.

In the distance, there’s the sound of running water rumbling through pipes that shouldn’t still work after so long. Silco no longer follows the trail when his legs know the exact number of footsteps it takes to get to the end of the narrow hallway - twenty-three - and how many doors to the left there are before reaching the bathroom he remembered so fondly - two. With his hand on the wall just out of sight from the occupant, Silco counts the seconds with his heartbeat.

Four seconds, and the light flickers. Twenty-five more seconds, and it flickers again. The same as his eyes remember, and he subconsciously times the blinking of his one good eye with the familiar beat of the lightbulb’s failing lifespan. It’s a wonder it still works, after all these years.

The sound of a grunt, and then a hiss as the sound of metal hits the floor. There’s a liminal feeling in the air, almost as if he’s dreaming - every sound is so familiar, every flicker of the bulb, every thud of the ancient pipes spitting water out. In the past, large hands would have braced on the tile with a laugh rather than a wince, as smaller, thinner ones picked and pulled and stitched and smoothed along tensed muscles. Lips would follow in their wake.

Silco often dreamed of the man that came before him, when he was young and a fool and something like love had been worn like a second skin, but never to this intensity.

Never this palpable.

A curse now, ground out between teeth before the sound of flesh hitting tile. Silco knows who this is, who is licking their wounds in the darkest corner of his bar, and the liminal feeling dissipates like he’s climbed from the river once more - less frantic, less violent. The ache in his chest is there, but its sharp edges have been ground down by the passing of time - but even a dull knife hurts when used with enough force, and tonight aims to kill.

Rounding the corner, Silco holds onto the doorway and watches as you stand beneath the running water and struggle with little grunts to reach over your shoulder at the gunshot wound that continues to weep in red rivulets even now. Again, you drop the knife in your hand and it rings sharp against the tile almost in time with your forehead thudding against the wall.

The form is smaller than who had used this room before - decades, maybe? Another detail lost to time that should be important but had been deemed unworthy. Like a phantom, rising from the grout, Silco sees broad shoulders overtop your smaller ones. Do you understand the weight you’re carrying at this moment, how heavy that ghost truly is?

Silco knows intimately - painfully - and doesn’t want you to shoulder it. Even he, the man who has seen it in the corner of his eyes and felt it in the moments where he’s blissfully alone, still isn’t used to how harsh it presses into his bones. Silco can hear it - the moment that thought passes through his head he hears the laughter and jeers of his counterpart on how harsh the lines of his body are.

Followed by the sensation of featherlight touches on the very parts of him that had been in suspect. Soothing subdermal wounds that had been caused by words, breaking him down and building him back up again in a vicious cycle that ended in the worst way of all. The thought of the circle beginning again makes his blood run cold, even in the humid air of the shower room.

You’re breathing heavily - great, heaving things that do nothing to help the stretch and relax of your injured shoulder. It’s a simple enough fix, if one has a second pair of hands. If not, the best way to remove it on your own is you brace your opposite elbow against the wall and lean against-

The thought is pushed away as soon as it comes. There’s no space for it here, not when Silco is watching the trail of crimson flowing along the line of your spine, the curves of your backside, down your legs to the drain and swirling amongst the rest. It’s beautiful in its own way, and Silco marks it as a boon to have been able to see it at least once, despite the connotations of it all.

Once upon a time, his fingers would have itched just as much to follow that path on muscles more defined, a body as familiar as his own. You're softer, smaller, more forgiving than the other. Silco finds that he prefers it far more.

[kenmaskitten10]

Dilf Deku Headcanons

Midoriya Izuku x GN!Reader

warnings: swearing, NSFW themes (nothing graphic just briefly mentioned),brief mention of bullying/scars, idk this is pretty tame nothing is really described... if u don't like dilfs then don't read this :)

a/n: okay! this is my first time writing/publishing anything on Tumblr so please go easy on me haha... I've had ridiculous Deku brain rot lately and I decided I had to jot a few thoughts down. I'm playing with the idea of turning this into a writing blog, but I am undecided! If anyone wants to thirst for one Izuku Midoriya please come talk to me please anyway without further ado here are some Dilf!Deku hcs.... I'm playing around with doing a NSFW version after this so if you would like to see that let me know!

w/c: 1,498

Okay everyone today I want to talk about Dilf!Izuku

This may be controversial but I personally believe that he has the most Dilf potential out of any of the class 1A boys and no I will not be taking criticism at this time

Sorry but even when he’s younger he has Dilf energy - he’s caring, considerate, takes your feelings into account like a dad he just wants to take care of his baby

oh fuck this man no no no

And listen, here me out on this one….. he has more dilf potential than Bakugo and allow me to tell you why

We can all agree that Bakugo has been confident his entire life, so of course he’s going to be confident when he’s older?? duh

But IZUKU is a different story altogether, he’s never felt confident in his life

His whole childhood he was looked down on for being quirkless, and bullied by someone he thought was his friend kachaan

THEN he got a quirk but oh every time he uses it it breaks all his fucking bones and leaves him with all these scars, and he appreciates them because of what they represent but also he’s young when he gets them, he’s already prone to insecurity and when he’s younger ESPECIALLY i think they just remind him of previous failures

He only started to gain a little bit of confidence in his UA days, but it takes time to rebuild yourself after you’ve been torn down for so long, so I honestly imagine he doesn’t even feel an inkling of confidence until his third year or later and even then, it’s new, it’s unfamiliar, he doesn’t totally know how to act

Because yes, by his third year, he’s starting to realize, oh wow okay, I have an incredible quirk and all these new abilities that I can control better, and wow people are paying attention for good reasons , because he’s tall and attractive, probably cuts his hair undercut Izuku supremacy and he’s made some solid friends who help boost his confidence too

But despite all this, deep down he still feels like that quirkless little kid who has to work three times as hard as anyone else and still doesn’t get the recognition he deserves

But OH BOY

DILF IZUKU??? This man is dripping with confidence

he’s older now. he’s overcome a lot. he’s gone to therapy, and worked his way through the pro hero ranks until he earned his number one spot fair and square, that’s something no one can take away from him

He’s loaded now (see below because I go on a whole tangent), he has nice tasteful style that can only come with age and experience

He knows he’s hot now, because its simply no longer something that can be denied, anyone with eyes can see how attractive he is

If he catches you staring at him, he doesn’t shy away. His cheeks might tint slightly, but he stares right back with the biggest smirk on his face. “See something you like, angel?”

Probably finds reasons to show off slightly but he’s Dilf!Izuku so it’s subtle, it’s meant just for you and god does it drive you crazy

The way he’ll reach for and grab at things when he’s around you because he knows you like his hands (he wants to hold your bags and please let him he just wants to feel needed)

They way he stands behind you while you cook, or work, or read…. He sees you sitting or standing so peacefully and he’ll come up behind you to check out what it is you’re doing. He’ll lean down slowly, quietly, stopping when his breath is on your neck and your nose is filled with his scent, and take a quick peek at whatever it is you’re working on. It takes you a moment to turn around, your heart starting to beat faster in your chest due to his looming presence behind you (I DON’T KNOW WHY THIS IS HOT TO ME IT JUST IS OKAY). When you finally turn to face him, his face breaks into a small smile of victory as his strong hand catches your jaw in a gentle grip and he places an achingly soft kiss to your lips before saying “You look so cute when you’re concentrating,”. As you’re about to go in for another, he lets you go and stands up again, his eyes twinkling. “No no, you’re working so hard baby, don’t let me distract you,” WHEN ALL HE WANTED WAS TO DISTRACT YOU and he succeeded and now you’re all hot and bothered, with no hope of resuming what you were doing

Dilf Deku is a tease I know he is but it’s okay he’ll make it up to you later ;)

He’s got shorter, slightly more cropped hair with grey mixed in with the green, his face more lean and angular… not to mention years of pro hero work have toned his body into an absolute work of art I’m gonna pass out just thinking about it

Freckles splashed across his skin like hundreds of little constellations, accented by scars and marks from old wounds (which he’s come to appreciate - they show how hard he’s worked, how much he’s sacrificed to get to where he is now) he’s muscular but I don’t think he’s quite as big as All Might (his fighting style is a lot different so of course he would build muscle in different places) so this means LEGS LEGS LEGS

LEG MUSCLES FOR DAYS

THICK FUCKING THIGHS oh my god

And holy shit his back muscles too WHEW sometimes in the morning when he gets up before you, you watch him sit on the edge of the bed and flex his shoulders and arms to stretch out in the hazy morning light and Jesus Christ

Dilf Deku is older now, he’s spent his entire life working himself too hard and he missed out on a lot of the fun, impulsive, chaotic things young people do, so I think he wants to let loose a little in his older age, have some fun for once

And what’s more perfect than sweet, youthful, tantalizing little you to indulge in ?

He’s so doting, just wants to make you feel special and cared for

And on that note, if you will indulge me for a moment

he’s fucking RICH like

He’s the number one pro hero, he has brand deals on brand deals on brand deals

And I don’t mean to slander All Might and Endeavor, but in terms of a hot, fuckable number one pro hero, Deku has them beat by a landslide so I imagine he has a wider range of brand deals too, because he can sell the sex appeal angle

I mean can you imagine him in interviews? Interacting with fans? Confident yes, but still soft spoken and kind, almost gentle but anyone can tell he’s completely in control, of himself, of the interview, of the audience, this man has the entire country world wrapped around his little finger

All this to say he’s DRIPPING WITH MONEY

he’s like the guy that overtips an OBSCENE amount like if the waiter is really nice he’ll tip like $300 dollars and won’t even blink (I know they don’t tip at restaurants in Japan but this is more for vibes yk)

sugar daddy deku isn’t a stretch it’s a REALITY

Y’all can be officially together or not, either way Deku loves to spoil his precious little y/n

All you have to do is smile sweetly and ask, and he’s absolute putty in your hands

Complies with even the most egregious of your demands, because hey, he has the money to spare, and how could he say no when you look so cute asking so politely?

GOOD TASTE too like he has a lot of money but he knows how to spend it 😏

Additionally he’s, ya know, him, so he’s insanely charitable and donates to charities, go fund me, personal Venmo accounts of fans that need it

if a fan has like a go fund me for some reason that catches his eye, he’s going to donate and he’s going to donate a lot (A LOT)

he doesn’t even do it for the press, he does it bc he’s a good person but my GOD the press eats it up and so do the fans

These hc’s are so self indulgent but all this to say

Dilf!Deku gets what he wants when he wants it and no one is standing in his way

So when he decides it’s you he wants? Well then it’s you he’s going to get!

[lightrises]

"Only in allowing her to pass..." — Hornet, The Radiance, and the means by which Hallownest turned its victims against each other

A quick note: I read Hollow Knight as an anti-colonialist text. As such I'll be touching on topics related to colonialism as it's depicted in the world of the game, and said analysis will reflect both a sympathetic take on The Radiance and a critique of The Pale King that won't pull its punches. If this sounds up your alley, hello and thank you for the read! Let us be sad about these bugs together.

———

So!! A while back I realized something about pre-canon that felt rather... "curious" is one way to put it, I think. To wit: for all the effort and scheming and determination The Pale King poured into trying to get rid of The Radiance, neither of his plans involved directly killing her.

Was that his long game? Well, sure, that seems clear enough. His tack changed from luring the moths away from their god and creator to a more literal form of incarceration once the infection became a factor, but at its core the end goal never really changed—The Pale King very sincerely wished to destroy Radiance via obsolescence. The Seer lends us foreshadowing to confirm as much:

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Hollow Knight, showing the Seer and Ghost in the Seer's alcove at the Resting Grounds. Across both screenshots, the Seer tells Ghost the following: "None of us can live forever, and so we ask those who survive to remember us. Hold something in your mind and it lives on with you, but forget it and you seal it away forever. That is the only death that matters." End description.]

(Which, by the way and given the context, talk about an extremely unsubtle allusion to cultural genocide huh!!! Whew.)

In any case, we're left with a whole bunch of machinations which build up to... well, two very roundabout attempts at committing deicide. That's kind of weird, all things considered! Why not just do the deed in one fell swoop and get it over with?

This could be for any number of reasons. Maybe the king was devoid of the means to instantly kill another higher being. Maybe his personal sense of scruples stopped him short of signing off on MURDER murder (although, y'know, the aforementioned genocide + eternal imprisonment = still cool and copasectic apparently!). Maybe the long drawn-out cruelty was the point. Maybe the idea of playing fuckign 4D chess with the circumstances was too delicious for him to pass up—that man did love to tinker and stick his claws where they sure as hell didn't belong—or maybe it was a little bit of All The Things. Who knows!!

But interrogating The Pale King's methodology on this count isn't what I'm here for, at least not really. The main reason I raise this question at all is that in her own way, Hornet did too.

"I'd urge you to take that harder path... "

See, going by The Pale King's actions and what The White Lady explicitly says, they both foresaw two outcomes wrt the infection: it can be allowed to spread, or it can be contained. At Teacher's Archives, Quirrel acknowledges the fact that Ghost is expected to do... something about this, but he doesn't elaborate on what HE thinks that's supposed to be apart from the obvious "Gotta bust into Black Egg Temple first". Hornet is the one person who presents to us—to Ghost—what's framed as a third option: confront and destroy the infection at its source.

And she doesn't bring it up like it's just another tactic for Ghost to consider, prim and indifferent to what they would do. She nudges them towards it, actively, up to the point where she throws herself into the fray against Hollow at a juncture that's uniquely dangerous to her and her alone just to make that option feasible.

Even when she's couching it in disclaimers that this is still Ghost's decision to make (and let's be fair, she's extremely not wrong about that lol), no one can pretend Hornet is unbiased. It's obvious in that buttoned-down Hornet kind of way that she is way the hell done with the increasingly tenuous stalemate that's kept Hallownest's desiccated corpse from collapsing in on itself. Personally it's hard for me not to read some Toriel Undertale-esque "My father was too entrenched in his own foolishness to pursue any course of action that would have DEFINITIVELY ended this" shade into her stance here, regardless of whether that's strictly true in canon.

And that bit—Hornet's hopes for an end to Hallownest's stasis, moreover her grim calculation of what needs to be done to get there—that's the bit I find super interesting but likewise tragic and depressing as shit, on multiple levels. In no small part because a) canon itself gestures towards Hornet feeling conflicted about the very plan she's pushing, and moreover b) she has at least two (2) damn good reasons to feel that way.

So, what do I mean by that? Let's look here first:

[Image description: A screenshot from Hollow Knight, of Hornet and Ghost inside the Temple of the Black Egg, standing in front of the unsealed egg itself. Hornet has been struck by the Dream Nail and her dialogue is displayed as follows: "... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?" End description.]

As the curtain is about to drop on things one way or another, Hornet thinks,

... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?

Now, looking at that last bit it's easy to go "Oh no, Hornet's worried that Ghost won't survive killing The Radiance!" And I do think that's part of it: Hornet is, categorically, not her father. By endgame it's clear she's not content to view her Void-borne siblings as tools to be used then disposed of. She's also well aware that as a healthy autonomous Vessel amongst the countless dead, Ghost is the only person left alive who has a fighting chance against The Radiance. Knowing someone is the only qualified candidate for the job doesn't make encouraging them to embrace a probable death sentence any less of a bitter pill to swallow, though. And odds are on that this sentiment extends to Hollow too, who IS going to die no matter what happens here. To put it bluntly, it's more than reasonable to conclude that Hornet hates the absolute fuck out of this.

But I don't think that's all there is to it either. Remember what I said earlier about The Pale King's bids for genocide? Well, it's not like the man deigned to limit his efforts to just the moth tribe.

"We do not choose our mothers... "

On top of everything else—an infected Hallownest being all she's ever known, the fact that she only exists because of the infection, the list goes on—Hornet has spent her life wedged into a position that's been uncomfortable and terminally unglamorous at best: she is both a daughter of her father's kingdom and of Deepnest.

Deepnest, which like the moths and many others was here long before the wyrm and his lady wife swanned onto the scene and the God Become Bug laid claim to everything the Light touched plus a considerable amount of change. THAT Deepnest, which has fought claw and thread to retain its sovereignty against same-said settler king, and for which Herrah not only surrendered her life but also agreed to bed her worst enemy, all in hopes of securing a viable future for her people (put a pin in that last part by the way, I'll come back to it soon).

Two Worlds, One Family (Ft. An Indigenous Woman Trying Her Damndest To Work With What She's Got Versus An Imperialist Who Only Signed Up For This Because He Needed The Political Favor THAT Badly, So It's The Height Of Dysfunctional Actually). Fun times!!!!

The baggage this entails for Hornet is gnarly enough without implications made by The White Lady and the pre-canon timeline of events and even Team Cherry's dev notes that the king may well have looked at baby Hornet, gone "YOINK", then ensured she spent the lion's share of her childhood reared within the pearly auspices of his Pale Court*. That would be rather advantageous for Him Specifically after all, the potential to mold a born foe into a future ally and even have her trained in combat under the same tutelage as her doomed sibling. And far be it from him to stop a grown Hornet—his own flesh and blood too!—from making Deepnest her forever home if she so pleased. He totally wouldn't be reneging on his "fair bargain made" by doing this one simple thing until Hornet came of age, not t e c h nic c a l l y.

If that is indeed the case, there's a non-zero chance Hornet's formative years were a hot mess of cultural alienation and being a good deal more privy than most to just how much of a bastard her father could be. There's an equally non-zero chance that at some point she stood or sat within earshot as The Pale King finally, finally dropped all pretense and euphemism to name the Light for precisely what (for who) it was.

See, in conjunction with the question that started this whole dang train of thought I've been asking this one too: Does Hornet know? When she speaks of confronting "the heart of [the] infection" does she know she's talking about not just a literal person but someone very specific? The Radiance, who god though she may be shares skin in the game alongside Hornet as a native woman screwed over by the same settler king, likewise deprived of her kin and saddled with a life gone horrendously pear-shaped?

I'll assume for the sake of exploring the possibility and because I think it's a likely one anyway that yes, Hornet does know. She knows, and despite everything can't help empathizing. She might even look at Radiance and see bits and pieces both reflected and slightly inversed in her own mother: Radiance was forced to the sidelines while her people—her children, the brood she was meant to lead and care for—died out under The Pale King's rule, and it's no stretch to assume she's at least as upset about that as she has been about everything else; Herrah too took drastic measures for her people's sake, trying to head off annihilation by relegating herself to the sidelines in an act that was as much calculated risk as an attempt to find wiggle room and leverage in the face of a nasty proposition.

A calculated risk that, if things continue as they are, might well amount to nothing as the rest of Deepnest gets eaten alive by the infection. It survived The Pale King's advances for so so long, only to fall here. Herrah's sacrifice would be for naught; the other tribes—themselves the king's victims—would keep succumbing to the infection too.

And this is where things fall apart.

"... or the circumstance into which we are born."

Let's be clear: I think Hornet is wise enough to know what's what here, that all the carnage and suffering falls on her father's head for starting this slow-motion trainwreck in the first place. Hallownest wasn't always Hallownest. This domain was Radiance's home first, along with many others. It was the worm-turned-king who rolled up on the scene unsolicited and decided this was a ""'problem""" that had to be """solved""".

But the fact of the matter is that he's gone and The Radiance is here, raging, seemingly inconsolable. Above and beyond being Deepnest's rightful heir, Hornet isn't in a position to countenance more splash damage even if the grief and fury fueling it makes perfect sense. She can understand without ever bringing herself to love Radiance, and she can bend her knee to practicality even if she hates the everloving shit out of it because the fact that it "has" to end this way isn't fair.

This lends itself to one last awful conclusion: that Hornet has probably considered and (rightly or wrongly) discarded the possibility that Radiance can be saved, at least not without dragging more collateral along for the ride. If even her mother and every other enemy to the king seemed to dismiss talking Radiance down as an option way back when... well. Why should Hornet hope for any better after things have escalated so far?

Again, it's practical. A practical net good is what Hornet strives for. And again, it fucking sucks.

For extra tragedy points, this makes Hornet's extended crypticness around Ghost followed by her last minute casting about for a reason to tell them "Wait, don't; not just yet" that she never voices even more of a gut punch. She can't bring herself to burden Ghost with the context that haunts her so, least of all when it might weaken their resolve to go through with what (she thinks) needs doing.

It's the "same song, different verse" which led to the mantis tribe and Deepnest being pitted against each other: Hallownest rigged the game so that two women who could have been powerful allies—who have a mutual vested interest in driving out settler rule—wound up poised as enemies instead. And how awful is that? The king for all his being extremely fucking dead still gets the last laugh, because outside of a miracle the game never manifests Hornet can salvage what her mother started and look forward to a future where Deepnest pulls itself back from the brink if and only if The Radiance dies.

Resolution comes at the price of a completed genocide. Add two more dead siblings to the unconscionable pile thereof, while we're at it. That's what it boils down to whether or not Hornet can bear to articulate it as such, and there's no grace or even a properly bittersweet ending to wring from this clusterfuck. And that is rough.

———

* This has been better explained elsewhere, but a quick rundown: The White Lady tells Ghost that Hornet and Herrah "were permitted little time together." On its surface this can be taken to mean that Hornet was still very young when Herrah was shipped off to Eternal Dreamland—except this doesn't jive with the fact that we meet Hornet as an adult. If the stasis kicked in once the Dreamers went to their rest, which in turn halted the aging process for every living bug in Hallownest, AND before all this Hornet experienced little by the way of quality time with her birth mother... I think you can see where I'm going with this.

To top it off we've got Team Cherry weighing in ominously from their dev notes on Herrah: "As part of the agreement for her alliance and her role as a dreamer, King gave her a child (Hornet). Was she allowed to keep this child or was she taken away?" This isn't confirmation by itself of course, but given additional canon details (see above): Can I get a "yikes" in the chat fellas.

[quillsareswords]

And Arnold Makes Four

The next part of Blurb #18, because it got surprisingly great feedback! Thank you all so much! You don't necessarily need to read 18, but I'd recommend it, just to get your bearings.

Interested in a Polyamorus Taglist? Comment here!

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

Jon did not keep his promise. When two hours had passed and you were still snoring next to Damian as he reclined on both of you, he considered waking you because goddamn it he wanted a slushee, but decided against it.

Too many night had you both sat up until the sun shone. The least he could do was let you rest.

Besides—he was pretty sure one of you would try to punch him if he tried.

So, he laid contently against your legs, wasting most of the day between his Switch and your television.

Damian is the first one awake. He blinks hard twice, because the sun is shining directly through the window and straight into his eyes (likely what woke him up, he decides). You're the first thing he sees. You probably got a little too warm snuggled so close to him, so you've pulled back so he can see your whole face. Subconsciously, he tracks your breathing for a moment.

Then he's looking past you, for his other partner. One of you are usually in the middle, because Jon gets too hot laying between you. Jon's not there. Damian reminds himself that he's in your house and that there's realistically no reason to worry, before the niggling of panic worms it's way into his mind.

The weight against his shins shifts. He sits part way up, careful not to jostle you too much in the process.

Jon turns away from your TV and smiles brightly. "I wondered when you'd wake up," he says, quietly.

Your eyebrows furrow as you groan.

Damian rolls his upper half so he can properly himself up with his elbows. "Why didn't you wake us? It's been well over two hours," Damian asks, inclining his head towards the window, where it's obviously nearly sunset.

Jon shrugs, shifts his weight so Damian can roll completely over. "You seemed like you needed it, so . . ."

Damian nods slowly. He feels a little bad, wondering why his internal alarm clock didn't have him up within an hour. Probably you.

You mumble something about the light before your eyes crack open with a glare. You'd been half awake, listening to the conversation. "What time is it?"

"Sunset," Damian sighs, crawling over you to get off the bed. "Sunshine here didn't wake us up."

Jon's cheeks bloom pink at the endearment, but he pretends they don't. "You looked like you needed sleep," he defends, flopping back down in his boyfriend's place.

You realize he's already gotten dressed, while you're still in sleep shorts and a ratty tank top. You also realize that Damian is fishing clothes out of his duffel, which was slung down beside Jon's bulging backpack yesterday afternoon.

You don't know why they insist on bringing so much every time they come to stay, considering the bottom two drawers of your dresser are respectively theirs. You consider this silently as you roll out of bed to pull on jeans and your Converse.

By the time you grab your longboard and bid your parents goodbye, the sky is orange and pink and white and it's brilliant.

Jon's camera is in your backpack, your speaker on a strap slung across his body while you search for their designated playlist.

Damian's pennyboard hits the ground first, then your longboard, then Jon's skateboard. Down your suburban driveway you cruise, then down the cul-de-sac and onto the sidewalk running alongside the slow traffic of the road.

The Travel Center sign glows orange and red as you roll forward, Vance Joy booming from Jon's hip. The sky only gets prettier, so Jon asks for his camera once you stop.

When you reach the parking lot, you slide your heel along the cement to lose your momentum, simultaneously slinging your backpack down to the crook of one arm to get the camera.

You hand it to him when he stops beside you, then you pop the nose of your board and pause your music.

"What are you getting?" Jon asks, as you pass him, one arm outstretched to hold the glass door open for you, while Damian swings the other side of the door open for himself.

"Coca Cola, obviously," you hum, tucking your board under one arm and reshouldering the straps of your bag. "I'll cover snacks and whatnot if one of you will pay for the bracelets at the fair."

The county fair is finally back for the beginning of summer in your home town, so the three of you have decided to go, since the fairgrounds are so close to the pier anyway.

Damian nods. "I'll pay for them." He takes a small cup size from the stack as the three of you round the corner of the back isle.

"I'll pay for the slushees," Jon decides, taking a large.

"Good for you," you smile, filling your medium with the light brown, thinly ground ice from the rolling machine.

Jon flicks your nose as he pumps his large full if blue-burrrry first, then cherry.

Damian snaps a boring old flat lid on the top of his cup before he saunters off in search of a snack to take for the road.

You're the next one done, but because you have a soul, you take a dome lid and fill your cup past the brim.

You roam the isles for a few minutes, despite already knowing where everything, just like every weekend. You pick up a bag of cheddar Combos, a miniature tube of original Pringles, and a Hershey bar.

You meet your boys by the checkout, where the same tired-looking woman smiles at you fondly. Just like every weekend.

Damian sets down a bag of M&Ms, while Jon is still juggling four bags of candy, a skateboard, and a multicolored slushee which is oozing out from the top of the dome lid, because—like every weekend—he's overfilled it.

While you fish out some bills from the wallet in your backpack, Damian finally steps in and takes the slushee from him so he can slap down his pack of Rainbow Belts, a bag of Skittles, a Hershey Cookies and Cream bar, a bag of Trolli gummy worms, a bag of miniature Twix bars, and a blue Gatorade onto the counter.

You laugh, because it's a little bit like a clown car, the way he piles it all on the counter. Damian sighs, staring at Jon with a healthy mix of impression, surprise, and adoration.

Sheepishly, Jon takes his slushee back from his boyfriend and mumbles, "The slushees are separate."

The middle-aged woman withholds a laugh at the whole thing, even though this is a very regular occurrence, while she slides all the items across the scanner.

A few minutes later, the three of you pause in the parking lot to cram everything into your backpack. While Damian is helping you, Jon stands at the very edge of the sidewalk, snapping pictures of the gorgeous sunset and the colors it paints the sky.

Soon enough, you're on your way again. The pier isn't too far from your house—maybe three miles, not counting the backtracking you have to do from the Travel Center. Its also not used often unless there's some big event, like a holiday or something at the fairgrounds, which are a quick jaunt up a dirt path through a patch of woods.

It's been a favorite spot of yours, ever since you were old enough for your parents to let you loose. You brought the boys out last summer, only about a month after forming the three way relationship you're so comfortable in. Since then, it's been a frequent for you three, when the weather's nice.

It isn't an ocean pier, by the way. It's on a lake, which is partly owned by the park on the other side, and partly owned by the same family who's owned the fairgrounds for as long as you can remember. They have a miniature boat race every Spring, and a lantern release every New Year.

You make it to the fairgrounds just about as soon as the sun sinks below the treeline, courtesy of the (mostly) paved road that stretches through the massive unused field and dense woods that divides it from the main road. Mostly, because it was paved so long ago that it was well forgotten in the most recent repaving your small town underwent a year or two ago.

You pop the nose of your board up, shoving the rest of your chocolate bar into your mouth as you step on to the whiterock path leading to the ticket booth, and the rest of the pop-up carnival beyond it.

"Three bracelets, please," Damian requests, holding out a twenty and a ten. Ten bucks for an all-access bracelet that are only valid for twenty-four hours might seem crazy, but it's logistically cheaper and easier than buying X-amount of tickets, and then having to come back for more later.

You hastily strap the paper onto one another's wrists before you scamper off, your eyes set on the Twister, dragging your boys behind you.

You spend most of the night squished between two people in a two-person seat; or throwing things at other things to win more things; or sprawled out in the grass behind or between some booths, chowing down on pre-bought snacks. Jon went off and got an Elephant Ear at some point, so you spent more time sitting in the grass, eating and chatting idly, humorously judging people with Damian while Jon glared on disapprovingly. Still, even he couldn't find anything good to say about the full neon rainbow leopard jumpsuit that fit about six sizes too small in the worst way, other than at least he's creative.

At one point or another, you come across a giant stuffed sloth that's about a foot short of being as tall as you, and you decide on the spot that it is absolutely going home with you. Damian and Jon see the number of points it costs and sigh in unison. You spend about one hundred and sixteen minutes throwing baseballs at far-too-heavy milk bottles, but hey, who's counting?

You do, eventually, win the sloth, with the combined efforts of three super-sidekicks—Jon's super strength, Damian's freakish aim, and your intuitive throwing finally converge on one task, surprisingly.

Hauling your new friend—Arnold, you've dubbed him—on your back, you decide to show your gratitude by putting your knife throwing skills (you're very good at instinctive throwing, because of your flawless intuition) to good use at the dart-and-ballon game.

You leave Arnold in Jon's care (Damian ever so gently told you that he'd leave Arnold to sit in the dirt beside them, not hold him, which offended you deeply), and and your longboard with Damian, before you march over, wad of dollar bills in hand.

You return twenty minutes later, two plush animals in each hand. You proudly bestow a ambiguous black bird to Damian, and a fire engine red marshmallow-esque creature to Jon. You take Arnold in your arms and resituate him to ride piggy back, long boneless arms draped over your shoulders.

Jon giddily grins at his new blob friend, and thanks you, muttering, a little shyly, that you really didn't have to. Damian stares down at the stuffed bird in silence, a smidge of contempt flickering in his eyes. It crosses your mind that he might have preferred something else, but all doubt is erased with his grip on it becomes a little more firm, a bit more protective, and you catch his gaze going soft on it. He offers you a little smile, because he's bad at genuinely accepting and showing appreciation for these kinds of gifts.

And because you know this, you return the gesture to prove that you understand.

Your trio heads for the dirt path through the decently small patch of woods, where a dirt path peeks out like a old man with gentle eyes and a warm smile.

Jon stops right as you reach the mouth of the path. He hands Damian his skateboard. "You go ahead, I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

"Where are you going?" Damian asks.

Jon starts walking backwards. "I'm gonna get something. I'll be quick, I promise! Go ahead!"

Damian exchanges a look with you. You shrug, reaching toward his hand and wiggling your fingers.

He locks his fingers with yours, sparing Jon one more look over his shoulder before the two of you set off.

"What do you think he's up to?" you wonder, peering over your shoulder just before the carnival is out of sight. You don't see him, but you imagine him bobbing a weaving through the crowds of half drunk, drunk high, and half asleep people ambling around in the last hours of the festivities for the day.

Damian glances back one more time. "Don't know," he answers. "Can't be anything good, if he wouldn't tell us."

You nod. "Can't be awful, if he wouldn't warn us," you add with a smile.

He laughs. "Can't be amazing if he wouldn't gloat about how amazing his idea is."

You laugh loudly. "You got me there."

You pass the marker for the middle of the path soon after. It's just an old wooden post, marked properly with fading orange tape. Not long after that, you leave the treeline behind.

The pier is old, and a little creaky. The wood is dark with age, warm with sun, and worn with the repeated paths of the residents of your hometown. The group of people is surprisingly small, despite the carnival's large attendance.

Your eyes roam the few couples scattered around the clearing by the water, and the group of friends laughing loudly from borrowed fishing boats further out in the water. Warm summer night air sticks to your skin and fills your lungs the way only it can.

The pair of you find a good spot at the very end of the pier, where the boards are still stable, but boast a concerning number if cracks and splinters. You prop Arnold up behind you, safely away from the water, but he slouches inanimately while he holds Damian's crow and your backpack in his lap.

"We should do this more," you hum, leaning back on your elbows to get a proper look at the mostly clear sky. It's nearly a full moon, and lack of light pollution leaves the stars on display, while the open moonlight reflects beautifully off the tops and sides of passing clouds.

Damian hums in agreement. "That would be nice." His neck cranes to get a good look for himself. "Any constellations?"

"Orion is there," you point to the belt specifically. "And the Dippers are right there."

A beat of silence as you admire the heavens.

"How long do you think until Jon calls us because he's gotten into trouble?"

You laugh. "Fifteen minutes," you bet.

Damian nods. "Sounds right. He's probably getting some kind of food."

"I hope it's something without grease," you groan. "Otherwise I might be sick."

Damian chuckles. "Don't get your hopes up."

As if it was a stage cue, you hear footsteps thumping up the rickity wood planks toward you.

You both turn at the sound of your names. "Look what I got!" Jon howls excitedly.

He's got a giant bag of popcorn and another of cotton candy under one arm, and brandishing a clear plastic bag with the other.

"That better not be a fish," you warn, but the spark in your eyes betrays the implied threat. You sit back up to get a better look.

"It'll be dead in a week," Damian warns, "so don't get too attached."

Jon fakes a pout, stopping beside Arnold. "His name is Jerry and you're being very rude." He drops the bags of snacks among your prize-filled bag and stuffed animals, then drops himself on the other side of you.

"Let me see him," you swipe the bag without permission. You hold it level with your eyes. It stares back boredly. "What are you gonna do with him? Do you have a bowl?"

He smiles sheepishly at you. "I thought your mom might have a vase or something."

You roll your eyes good-naturedly and hold the bag out to Damian to inspect. "I'm sure she does," you assure anyway. "If not, you can borrow a water glass or something."

Damian's eyes light up suddenly, as he eyes the yellow fish. "Your mother has a huge wineglass, doesn't she?"

You grin. "Yes. Yes she does, and you're a genius."

Damian smiles suavely, reaching across you to hand the bag back to Jon. "This isn't new information."

You snort and roll you eyes again, reaching for the cotton candy. "And so modest, too."

Jon tucks one leg under the opposite knee, setting the bag of water in the crook of his knee. "And ugly as a moose."

Damian indignantly rips the bag of cottony sugar from your grasp, leaving you with an offended glare, an agape mouth, and a thick tuft of pink fluff in your hand. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

You giggle over to Jon. "I think he hates us," you loudly whisper.

Jon nods thoughtfully, peering past you as he whispers back, "He's planning to poison us with dinner."

Damian sighs, loudly. "Firstly, poison wouldn't effect you, Jon. Secondly, if I hated either of you, I wouldn't be here."

Jon laughs. "He's got us, Lovely."

You lean on Damian's shoulder. "In more ways than you one."

Your plan works perfectly. Red flushes down his neck, eyes still locked on the horizon.

Jon picks up on it immediately, and hooks an arm around Damian's waist. "Wouldn't you agree, Love?"

He grumbles between the two of you, annoyed and embarrassed and so overwhelmingly in love.

As predicted, he makes a quick effort to switch topics. "How long are we staying?"

You and Jon respect his discomfort with focused public affection and pull away. "Long as we want," you answer, shoving a smaller tuft of pink into your mouth. "Mom just said to be home before two."

Jon nods. "I wanna watch a Disney movie when we get home." You agree.

"Speaking of getting home," Damian peers over his shoulder at the small mountain of prizes, food, and skateboards behind you, "how exactly do you plan on getting Arnold home?"

You eye the four-foot-six sloth and your longboard. Then you turn back to your boys, moonlight casting a gleam in your eyes. "I have absolutely no idea."

[TAGS – @qween-of-trash ]

[kodzukenscorner]

Osamu dating Sakusa’s twin sister

anon asked: hello 💕 can i ask a scene for sakusa's twin sister dating osamu? 👉👈 thank you.

a/n: asdghljl forgive me for not updating in a bit, I’ve hit a bit of a writer’s block 

wc: 1,476

✶   ✶   ✶   ✶   ✶

You are nothing like Sakusa Kiyoomi, Osamu thought to himself nearly every time he saw you. He knew you were twins and foolishly assumed you would share in your brothers touch-averse and semi germaphobic ways. Although to be fair, Osamu had never formally met Sakusa before, he only heard of him from Atsumu when they became (somewhat) acquainted at their last training camp. It wasn’t until a practice match was set up did he get to meet the Sakusa Kiyoomi in the flesh, along with the rest of Itachiyama. That of course, included their manager, you.

Your hair was dark and curly like your brothers, but not nearly as unruly. It cascaded into raven ringlets down your shoulders and Osamu could not keep his eyes off the way it bounced every time you nodded your head. Suffice it to say he was entranced by you and Atsumu was quick to notice.

“Bet she’s as prickly as her brother”

Osamu scrunched up his nose, he couldn’t imagine someone as angelic looking as you being so cold. Little did he know, Sakusa was having a similar conversation with you. It didn’t take you long to take notice of the Miya twins, your brother had told you about Atsumu who was a talented setter no doubt but a bit of a pain in the ass. Osamu was a mystery and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was like his twin or maybe he was like you, someone who was nothing like their own twin.

“The Miya’s, probably equally irritating” Your brother informed you as he stretched his wrist out.

Throughout the warmups and the practice match, you couldn’t help but keep an eye on the Miya twins. Atsumu seemed just as your brother described, talented and cocky but Osamu was a quiet force. He was good and paired with his brother, they could be unstoppable one day. It was on more than one occasion that you two made eye contact throughout the match and by the time everyone was relaxing afterwards you knew it wasn’t just a coincidence. You looked over once more to the Inarizaki team to catch Osamu staring at you, but this time he didn’t look away and neither did you. He offered you a sweet genuine smile, nothing like the slightly sinister one his brother has. You couldn’t help but smile back at him, a blush creeping its way up your cheeks which was easily noticed by Osamu.

Before your team had left, Osamu managed to finally get you alone, the words were almost lost in his throat when he finally got to see you up close. But he was still able to get your number and properly introduce himself before you went your separate ways. You knees went weak just at speaking to him for such a short amount of time, you had no idea how you survived to be completely honest. And true to his word, Osamu texted you that night when he got home, you texted back and forth until the sun came up the next morning.

How did any of this happen? He was just a rival athlete from another school, but now you were texting and calling him every night. Your heart fluttered whenever you saw his name on your screen and your brother couldn’t help but notice how attached you were to your phone. And now here was Osamu, standing at your front door, ready to take you on your first official date. Your brother loomed behind you, still wary of the Miya twin but you bid him goodbye and dragged Osamu away. You held his hand tightly in yours as you led him to your favorite onigiri shop, you had tried asking him what his favorite food was but he just kept saying it was ‘food’. 

Osamu was too caught up in the feeling of your hand in his to make any sort of conversation, and your heart was beating too loud to hear anything he might have said anyway. Once you made it to the shop, he had to reluctantly let go of your hand to properly order food for the both of you. Soon enough, you were seated across from each other with your food in front of you, neither of you had said much yet but when you looked up at the grey haired man in front of you the blush that had been permanently sitting on your cheeks threatened to take over your whole face now. Something about the way he had his chin propped up on his hand, and the dreamy far away look he had as he looked at you made you want to faint on the spot.  He reached over and grasped your hand in his once more, eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m surprised yer letting me hold yer hand”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Dunno, just thought you’d be like yer brother”

“I thought you’d be like yours” 

You both chuckled and comfortably ate your food, conversation finally flowing normally. You stayed in the small restaurant much longer than either of you anticipated but you both lost track of time. Osamu walked you home, hand intertwined with yours, his thumb rubbing light circles into the back of your palm the whole way. He stopped at your door, knowing your brother wasn’t quite comfortable with letting him inside just yet. You looked up at Osamu in anticipation.

“Well, ummm, thank you for everything, I had fun” You smiled at him sweetly.

“I did too, but it’ll be some time before I can come visit again so don’t get upset when I do this okay?” 

You didn’t have a chance to question what he meant because before you knew it, Osamu was leaning down cupping your cheek with his free hand, bringing his lips to meet yours. You clung to his shirt for support and immediately kissed him back. You had been daydreaming about kissing him since you first started texting but nowhere in any of your fantasies did you imagine his lips to be so soft. He was a slow kisser and he managed to make you completely melt under his gentle touch. You felt his tongue swipe across your bottom lip and just as you parted your lips to give him access your front door swung open.

Osamu pulled away slowly, making eye contact with your brother who was glaring at him. He offered a lazy smile while you still clung to his chest, he really managed to take your breath away with that kiss. Osamu moved his hand from your cheek and wrapped it lazily around your waist, bringing your body closer to his and planted a kiss on the top of your head.

“You should head inside before yer brother gets really mad, I’ll text you later sweetheart” Osamu said sweetly in your ear.

You finally stepped away, bidding Osamu a goodnight, entering your house where your brother promptly shut the door.

“Next time you’re wearing a facemask”

“How am I gonna kiss him then?”

“Exactly”

“Kiyoomi!”

You huffed and went to your room, listening to some music, remembering the feeling of Osamu’s lips on yours. Suddenly your phone buzzed and Osamu’s name popped up on your screen and you broke out into a wide grin reading his text.

“Hey, your brother interrupted us before I could ask but do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

You squealed into your pillow before replying.

“Of course 🥺 ”

You started cheering and kicking your legs up as you laid in the bed when your phone buzzed again. You quickly grabbed it, expecting it to be from Osamu but were confused when you saw your brother’s name.

“Did he finally ask you out?”

You scoffed and replied “He would’ve asked me out sooner if you hadn’t interrupted”

“Fine, guess you don’t want this picture then”

Sakusa sent you a picture of you and Osamu kissing outside your door and you almost died of embarrassment. But it was a very sweet picture and you were over the moon at this point.

“Love you Kiyoomi but next time I’m making out with my boyfriend please leave us alone or I’ll cough on you <3333″

“Gross” Was his only response.

You set the picture as your wallpaper and continued texting with your boyfriend for the rest of the night, you even sent him the picture Sakusa had taken.

“Babe why would you send this to me, now I’m gonna dream about you all night long”

“I don’t see how that’s a problem”

“So if I wake up with a “problem”, you’ll help me out?”

You choked on your own spit reading his text “SAMU!!”

“Kidding, kidding. Go to bed now sweetheart, I’ll talk to you tomorrow”

To no one’s surprise, you were the one to dream of Osamu that night, not that you were complaining. 

[yacoka]

FIFTY FIRST DATES, AND THE FIRST REAL ONE

──⊱ for my one and only, wee to my woo, love of my life — @doughnuts-5ever

pairing — kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre — angst but it ends very fluffily i swear on my doggie socks

beta(s) — @sugasugawarau @taiyaki 

kisses — hello i am,,, not back,, but here's a little thing that i did for my cow and it might as well be a valentine's day fic bc why not xoxo see y'all in a few days (psps sorry to everyone to has messaged me on discord or here or anything, i haven't been on tumblr or discord in a bit i'll be back sOON)

You sat at the dinner table, staring down at the meal laid out before you. It was by far the best thing you had ever tasted, and yet, it was bland. So, so bland and bitter, that you hated it. Nevermind that it was your favorite dish made by your mother the other day, nevermind that you always loved it better as leftovers. It tasted bland and bitter, and you couldn’t help but wish what he was eating tonight was too.

It was pathetically selfish of you - you knew. But how could you not feel that way when the man you loved was out on a date with some stranger he met on the internet? He had left the house in a burgundy button up that looked like it was made for him, paired with black slacks that made him look like it should be illegal for him to be out in the streets without a warning sign.

It was his first attempt at online dating after having miserably failed at picking up girls from school. And now here he was, out with some chick with a name you could barely pronounce, and the stereotypical description of her bubbly personality that loved nature and volunteered at the animal shelter. Oh, and lets not forget, she’s a gemini!

You rolled your eyes, stabbing your fork into the now cold dish. Stupid boy, with his stupid date, with that stupid red shirt, and with his stupid personality.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. That’s what you were for falling in love with a boy who never saw you for more than another pity project, the pathetic little thing that needed friends but never had any guts to make one until he came along.

You picked up the container of food and stalked over to the bin, dropping its contents into it. You weren’t going to eat it anyways, especially not after how you had  massacred it.

After you left the dirty container in the sink, you flopped onto the couch, sighing heavily as you sank into the worn sofa. It smelled like Kuroo’s body soap, though from the amount of time he’s spent lying on this couch, it was to be expected.

You leaned forward, hand outstretched for the remote. Just a little further, a little more-

The door slammed open and you lurched forward, landing on the ground with a thud.

“It was horrible. She came into the restaurant and she looked amazing, but then we started talking and oh god, I don’t think I can be with someone who thinks that only the rich should be allowed to do whatever they want just because they’re rich.”

“Well hello to you too, Kuroo,” you grumbled from your spot on the floor, flipping yourself over to face the ceiling.

He jumped over the sofa arm, landing perfectly on it like he always does.

“I mean, how can I accept that? That’s just morally wrong and if her basic morals are wrong, what about other more important things? I walked out right after that, that doesn’t make me an asshole right?” His head popped out, brown eyes staring down at you. The cologne he wore tonight drifted down, washing over you and clouding your mind with its deliciously warm and thick and-

“I mean I did pay for the meal before I left,” he mutters, dropping his head onto the cushion, voice muffled slightly by it. “So it counters the fact that I left, right?”

The sigh that begs to pull its way out is caught by you, stuffed into the depths of your stomach in exchange for a soft pat on his head and words you know he wants to hear.

“No, you’re not an asshole. Maybe that was an asshole move, but that doesn’t make you one. Besides, her lack of a moral compass cancels out any asshole you might’ve been.” You combed through his hair, drawing it out of the careful style he had forced his bed head into. “This hairstyle though? It makes you look like an extreme asshole.”

Kuroo scoffed indignantly and his head popped back over the edge once more, brown eyes glaring at you. “I worked hard on this!”

“Doesn’t make you look any less of an ass.”

“The date was incredible.” He sighed dreamily, leaning against the counter with his chin in his hand. The temptation to throw your fork at him increased, and it took every sane cell in your body to set it down on the table instead, albeit rougher than you intended.

If Kuroo noticed your intensity, he didn’t mention it, instead continuing on to sigh and gush about the wonderful date he had last night with this amazing woman at this delicious place.

For someone who was incredibly perceptive, he could be incredibly dense as well. You wonder at his obliviousness to your feelings, to the poorly concealed hurt that peeked through in every little move of your body.

All you wanted to do was scream at him, to wake up, open his eyes, and see you.

You, who had been there since the beginning, who had watched him grow from the shy, introverted kid to this cunning, charismatic man who excelled and went beyond what had been expected of him. You, who had seen him at his worst, and still stayed, patching him up and helping him to his feet. You, who knew who he was to the core, every detail, every fact about him.

But it seemed he didn’t know you as well.

“That’s great,” you interrupt him. He glanced at you, surprised by your abruptness. “I gotta go get some work done, I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning.”

“Wait, did I do something wrong?” He called after your retreating back. “Hey, I’m sorry if I pissed you off.”

“No, it’s nothing!” You slammed the door shut, slumping against it. God, you were a fool to have fallen for an idiot. Dashing away the burning tears that slip down your cheeks, you gathered just enough strength to crawl beneath onto your bed and beneath the covers.

The cat plushie he got you a long time ago sits at the bottom of your bed, staring at you. You glared at it, before giving in and grabbing it, tucking it into your chest. Stupid Kuroo with his stupid face and this stupid cat. You hate him so much.

(No, you don’t, you really don’t. And it hurts so much more to know that.)

You’re back here once more, glaring daggers at the clock. The slow ticking of the hands pisses you off, every second gone is a second more Kuroo’s out there, with another girl, on another date. With the number of bad first dates he’s gone one, you’d think he’d give up. But no, this man was persistent, and he wanted to “experience life!”

Well, he was going to experience death soon if he didn’t come back home soon. Your vigil continued, all the way till three am where you gave up and went to bed, your exhaustion outweighing your annoyance and worry. He’s a grown man, there was no need to worry about him.

Honestly, you didn’t know how you got here. To this suffocating silence that rested upon your chest, pinning you down as you listened to the sounds of cars rushing past and the occasional laughter that seeped through the walls. To where you spent your nights alone in your shared apartment, waiting for Kuroo to come home from yet another date. Like some married person waiting on their cheating husband, you smiled bitterly at the ceiling.

Only you weren’t married to him, and you certainly weren't his anything.

If only you were less of a fool, you might’ve moved on long ago. Maybe you might have even found someone who might be just as in love with you as you were with them. You might have already been in a happy relationship, going out on dates, spending your nights with them, being loved. But you were a fool, a fool in love with another fool.

So you continued to lie there, the infinite weight of your one-sided love pressing you into the ground, holding you prisoner to Kuroo Tetsurou.

“Hey, do you wanna go get dinner?” Kuroo called out. “There’s nothing left in the fridge, maybe we could get groceries after.”

You ignored him, focusing on the dimly lit screen of your phone. There hadn't been a proper conversation with him in a while, and you were content to leave it that way if only it meant you didn’t have to hear about his dates with those seemingly perfect women and their seemingly perfect food.

Kuroo called out once more, and you burrowed beneath the blanket, curling up into a ball.

No, you did not want to get dinner with the man you’re so desperately in love with it almost hurts to even breathe in his presence.

The door creaked open, and you could see his shadow stretch out across your bedroom floor, casting its shape upon your walls. It took everything in you to tear your eyes away from it and back onto your phone, though it lingered in your peripheral, taunting you with the way it twisted and leaned closer to you, the scent of his cologne growing stronger by the second, until it almost felt like he wa-

“Why are you ignoring me?” Kuroo whined into your ear as he draped his body over yours, strands of inky hair tickling your cheek.

“Ku-roo-” you gasped out, fighting to twist your body out from under him. “Can’t- bre-breathe.”

He groaned into your ear, dropping even more pressure down. “Don’t care, you ignored me.” He sulked as he burrowed his head into the crook of your neck.

A blind kick to his legs has him flopping off you, spread eagle on your too tiny bed.

“You’re too heavy to be pulling this crap,” you snapped at him.

“And you’re too old to be ignoring me when something’s wrong,” he shot back just as fast, and you were left stunned. To be fair, you should have expected it, Kuroo being one of the most perceptive people you’ve ever met.

(Not perceptive enough to see the deep feelings you harbored for him though.)

“So what’s wrong?”

‘Everything,’ you wanted to scream. ‘You, those stupid dates, my feelings, every god damned thing on earth.’

Instead, what came out was: “I’m just stressed. Work, you know?” You shot him an unconvincing smile.

Kuroo frowned, his lips pinching as he stared at you. He knew better than to push you though, and settled with a curt nod, a forced smile slipping onto his face. “So…. dinner?”

You sighed in exasperation, and let him yank you up and out of bed. The way his stiff smile melted into an easy, fond one was enough to wash away your hesitance, and temporarily dam up the river of doubts that threatened to drown you.

Just for tonight, you’ll enjoy his presence, before he gets caught up in another’s embrace.

(You let yourself get swept up in him again, chasing after the ebb of his warmth when his encompassing presence surges away from you. But you find that you don’t really mind drowning in him, not when the peak of the surf reveals such beautiful sights in the form of lazy smirks and sly hazel eyes.)

It’s another failed date that sends him home in a fitted suit, one that you had turned your nose up at. Kuroo doesn’t understand what’s going wrong, why he never felt like the date was right. The people he had gone on dates with were nothing short of amazing, with the exception of a few. But they just lacked… something. And so he always leaves them with a grateful goodbye and an apologetic smile, returning home to the apartment he shared with you alone.

He’s spent nights and days trying to convince himself that they were an ideal candidate to date, listing out their positive notes to you, and somehow he can’t seem to find the thing that made him just click with them. It’s bordering on frustrating, really, and Kuroo is more than ready to relieve some of the building tension in his body by hanging out with you.

His entrance home is muffled by the sounds of music blasting through the apartment, and it’s a wonder the neighbours haven’t complained yet. He’s about to call out for you as he drops keys on the coffee table, one hand loosening his tie when he catches sight of you dancing in the kitchen.

And everything clicks in place.

It’s a stunning clarity that leaves him reeling, and he wonders how he could have missed it in the first place. It’s a simple truth: Kuroo Tetsurou was completely, utterly, irrevocably in love with you. And it only took him fifty bad first dates to realize that the only person he wanted to go on a date with was you.

Objectively speaking, you look like a complete mess, but to him, the sight of you twirling around in sock clad feet in an oversized shirt with a lame chemistry joke printed across it was infinitely better than any of the people he had gone on dates with. You’re absolutely perfect to him, yelling out lyrics to a song that’s blasting at full volume from the living room.

There isn’t a moment’s hesitation as he surges forward, a force tugging him to you. And like just like two opposing magnets, you spin around just in time for him to collide into you, his head hazy as his mouth crashes down upon yours.

You taste of leftover pizza and something sweet, and he thinks it might be the best damn thing he’s ever tasted. The shocked gasp that escapes you is swallowed by Kuroo as he deepens the kiss, arms winding around you to pull you impossibly closer. And he isn’t sure why he’s so surprised when you reciprocate the kiss, melting into him as your hands grip the lapels of his blazer.

It feels like an eternity spent wrapped around each other, the beat of the music matching the rhythm of your hearts, and the warmth of each other.

Kuroo pulls away first, only because rationality comes sinking back into his muddled brain, and there’s a brief moment of panic when he stares down at your flushed face, lips swollen from his sudden attack. But the absolute relief and love in your eyes has him calming down, and the soft peck you deliver next settles those doubts.

“It’s been you all this while,” his voice cracks, and he winces. “You’re my best friend, and I’m in love with you.”

The smile that breaks out across your face is everything he’s been looking for, and he feels like a fool for being so blind. You’re everything he’s wanted, and everything he’s needed.

“I’m in love with you.” He repeats louder, an incredulous laugh bubbling out of him. “I’m in love with you!”

“I’m in love with you too!” You yell back, and in his excitement, he can’t help but twirl you around, and you burst into giggles. There isn’t a better sound in the world than this, he thinks.

“Be mine.” He catches you by the shoulders, face alight with adoration.

“I’ve been yours for a long time now.” Your answer fills him with a rush of delight and guilt, and he’s ready to spill apologies and promises to make it up to you when you yank on his tie hard, pulling him into another kiss. Every unspoken word, every drop of emotion that has ever begged to be exchanged between you two is said with a simple kiss.

Kuroo thanks the heavens for you, for blessing his life with someone who is more than he deserves. The weight of you in his arms is a comforting pressure, and there he has his last first date, at the beginning of a new chapter in the story of him and you, eating leftovers and dancing to songs of your childhood.

He’s in love with you, and you are with him too.

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (4)

     jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: this is mostly jk showing off what a shy tease he is, but with some angst at the end

words: 4.8k

       chapter four

Somehow, Jungkook had managed to keep his wits about him and completed the week without a single party – and without a single drop of alcohol! – so, naturally, by the time it was Friday, everyone was talking. Most people assumed that there was something wrong with him but a surprisingly large percentage of the students on campus seemed to understand his reasons – causing a car crash while under the influence was bound to make a person reconsider some of their life choices.

When your last class of the week, Macroeconomics, wrapped up on Friday afternoon, you were surprised to find Jungkook lingering by the door of the building. You weren’t sure if you were at that point in your friendship where you could just approach him and simply ask what was up or if you two still weren’t close enough for that but Jungkook noticed you and relieved you from making that difficult decision.

“Hey!” he walked over to you as soon as he saw you. “Wasn’t your class supposed to end fifteen minutes ago?”

You looked down at the clock on your phone. “Uh, yeah. The professor is—well, I’ve concluded that she can’t tell time.”

“Clearly,” he said. “I stayed back, thinking we could head home together.”

“Oh,” you said and then looked down, automatically mapping out the campus until you came to a conclusion that you and Jungkook could definitely walk in the same direction without it being weird, so, really, there was no reason for you to get excited about this. And yet your heart disagreed as it cheerfully tossed itself across your chest. “Sorry I made you wait, then. But you could have given me a heads-up. My Fridays don’t start until—”

“See you tonight, bro!” a guy walking past interrupted you as he punched Jungkook on the shoulder so unexpectedly that he nearly toppled over. Jungkook didn’t mind, though, and when you lifted your eyes, you saw a friendly smile on his face.

“Definitely!” he replied to the guy before redirecting his attention to you. “Sorry about that. You were saying?”

“Nothing,” you dismissed that as you two slowly walked out of the building and made your way home. “So, what’s tonight?”

You didn’t mean to pry but, after not hearing about any Parental Advisory parties from Inna, you had suspected that the band was going to take it easy this weekend – perhaps even give the not-so-legendary Brock a chance to host a second party, since his first one only seemed to do moderately well after Jungkook didn’t show up – but, clearly, you’d been wrong to assume that.

“Ah, there’s a party at our place,” Jungkook said and he seemed very uncomfortable admitting this so he tried to find a way to justify it, “it’s tradition, you know? We’re not performing this weekend because we didn’t get to practice as much – my bad, I suppose – but the party’s still on.”

“I see,” you said, not realizing how judgmental that sounded to him.

“Yeah, and it’s not like I can just not go because I live there,” he continued to explain himself, “it’d be weird if I stayed in my room the entire time and, now that I think about it, I probably couldn’t stay in my room anyway. The music would be too loud for me to do anything, so I’d have to—”

“Jungkook,” you turned to look at him and he finally stopped the nervous chatter, “you don’t have to swear off parties altogether. That wouldn’t be you.”

“Yeah, no, I know,” he scratched his neck, “it’s just—I don’t know. I get that most of my friendships on campus are superficial. Really, I do. But it’s—I mean, these people aren’t that bad to hang out with. I just don’t want to make it seem like I’m back on my old bullshit, you know?”

You didn’t know because you weren’t sure what his “old bullshit” involved but you nodded because he looked like he needed reassurance right now.

“Sure,” you said, “but you’re in college. You can still go out and have fun with your friends… or whoever those people are to you. Just be responsible.”

“Right,” he swallowed and both of you turned quiet.

Realizing that he had a limited amount of time to talk to you before you’d reach your dormitory, Jungkook was the one who spoke up again a minute later.

“I talked to my parents last night,” he said. “I called them like you said. They acted like it was the first time I’d ever called them. I’m pretty sure mom thought I only called because I needed to get bailed out of jail.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t realize you’d drifted off so much.”

He exhaled slowly. “Yeah, we did.”

“You’re working on it, though,” you said, noticing that your observation seemed to bring him down. Out of fear of having discouraged him, you added quickly, “that’s a good sign, isn’t it? You are actually trying to bring back what you once had.”

“Hmm, that might be a stretch. I don’t think we were ever a perfect family,” he scrunched up his nose as he said this and, for a moment, you were completely breathless because he looked so sweet and homely – it was an insane contrast to the wild, long-haired alternative singer that most of the people on campus knew him as.

“Yeah, well, uh,” you blinked, looking away from him and focusing on the pavement instead, “every family has its flaws. But not all of them are willing to work on them.”

“I feel like that’s a line from a Tolstoy book,” Jungkook said and you snorted. He noticed the disbelief on your face right away. “What? I only act like I’m empty-headed sometimes, but I do read.”

“No, it’s not that,” you said, shaking your head, “I just never pegged you for someone who’d read Tolstoy, of all things.”

“Why? Who did you peg me as?”

You gave him a side-glance, your eyes guarded by your eyelashes as you still wouldn’t meet his gaze – which was good because his heart had already stopped when you looked at him like that – and hummed thoughtfully.

“You always struck me as more of a Stephanie Meyer guy,” you said.

He gasped and pfftched for the next few steps before finding his voice, “Stephanie Meyer? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with her but what is it about me that screams I-enjoy-hot-vampire-drama?”

You shrugged. “You tell me. I remember seeing the book in your bedroom when we were in sixth grade.”

“I am not going to defend my twelve-year-old self,” he declared with mock-dignity and you couldn’t help but smile at the banter. “That must have been the year when the book was the most hyped. I got curious.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” you said and then bit playfully, “different strokes for different folks, right?”

“I’d rather not have Edward Cullen stroke me, thank you very much.”

You laughed. “Fair enough.”

Jungkook smiled as he watched you but he didn’t get to enjoy the happy wrinkles by your eyes for too long because you two reached your dormitory and it was about to become awkward. Due to the fact that Jungkook lived a little further away, it was starting to feel like he’d just walked you home, which he technically did, but it wasn’t the typical Walking-Home that happened when two people were dating, and now you didn’t know how to act.

“Alright, well, thank you for waiting for me after class,” you said in an attempt to ease the awkwardness.

It didn’t really help because, all throughout the walk over here, Jungkook kept trying to find a way to ask you something and he was still having a hard time choosing his words.

“Yeah, uh, anytime,” he said and then, with a very dramatic stretch of his hands above his head – he wasn’t trying to show off his muscles or anything, he just needed to feel a little more in control of his body – he finally dared to say, “hey, so… do you think you’ll make it to the party tonight? I mean, I assume your roommate’s coming, so—”

“Oh, I don’t know if she is,” you admitted, completely oblivious about how long it took him to gather the courage to ask you to come. “Inna didn’t mention going.”

“She said she was thinking of going when I talked to her,” he said, recalling the time he’d cornered your roommate for your phone number.

“I guess your parties are more her thing,” you said, not wanting to turn him down but also not feeling up for another night with his drunk groupies, “they’re not really for me.”

“Alright, that’s cool,” Jungkook said, focusing all of his attention on a loose pebble on the pavement that he kicked softly with his foot. “I’ll see you on Monday then, yeah?”

He didn’t make it obvious but you could still hear the glints of disappointment in his voice and you’d have been fooling yourself if you said it didn’t make your heart beat faster – he wanted you to come! – which was still something that you weren’t used to.

When you were younger, Jungkook had never made you feel like you were going to die if he didn’t smile at you. Until, one day, that was precisely how he made you feel.

It happened in the final years of your friendship so you’ve had seven years to digest the butterflies and finish wallowing in self-pity. You thought you were fine now.

“Yeah,” you said struggling to swallow because, clearly, the only creatures that were fine, were the damn butterflies that had successfully reincarnated. “I’ll see you Monday.”

But the two of you stayed still for a few more minutes, both stealing quick glances at each other and then looking away when your eyes met. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around and enter the dormitory because in doing so, you’d begin two and a half days of not seeing Jungkook, and you didn’t feel ready for that yet.

Funny how you’d survived seven years without talking to him but one weekend suddenly seemed too long.

“I should go,” Jungkook said after a while because it was true, he really should have gone. But he didn’t want to leave. “They’re probably going to send me on a booze run.”

“Is that your punishment for last weekend?” you asked.

“Yeah. But also, maybe it’s not? They always order me around,” he explained. “I’m the youngest. Sometimes, I swear, I can’t wait until they graduate and then I won’t have to go on beer runs at six in the morning when they’re too drunk to move.”

You’ve heard about the dynamics of the relationship between the Parental Advisory members from Inna but it sounded different – somehow more real – when Jungkook was the one telling you about that. You felt yourself smile as he spoke of the other members.

“You don’t mean that,” you said. “You guys seem really close.”

“We live together,” Jungkook said with a nonchalant shrug but you could see how much their friendship meant to him in his eyes. “We’ve seen each other go through all kinds of shit. They’re… they’re cool guys. The only ones I’m actually genuinely close to. You’d like them.”

You didn’t doubt that for one second even though, just days prior, you thought his whole band was overrated.

It’s been a long week, that much was clear, and you’d learned that you were a lot more prejudiced than you’d have liked to admit.

“I’m sure they’re nice,” you didn’t disagree, “I hope they’ll take care of you tonight.”

That sounded far too familiar and just plain affectionate when said out loud, and you felt yourself flush as you looked for something else to say to control the damage. But Jungkook didn’t seem to mind your worry in the slightest – in fact, he knew he was going to replay your words in his mind all the way to his house – as he smiled and gave you a reassuring nod.

“I’ll be fine tonight,” he promised and the grateful glitter of his eyes let you know that there were going to be no life-threatening accidents tonight.

Inna did end up going to the party. She felt like she’d already come so far by attending last week, so she couldn’t just stop going now – which made no sense to you whatsoever, but maintaining the perfect attendance clearly meant a lot to her, so you gave her your blessing and patiently endured her nagging as she tried to get you to come with her.

“I can’t bring myself to go,” you said as you settled on your bed with your laptop. “I went through this whole week looking forward to Friday so I could have an American Horror Story marathon until I dreamt of latex-clad monsters. I just can’t postpone that any longer and especially not for something as ridiculous as—well, you know.”

She used to think you were kidding when you first started to live together, but after knowing you for three years, she realized just how much these seemingly little things meant to you: like catching a new superhero movie or re-watching your favorite TV shows. And it wasn’t that you hated social interactions or parties in general, not at all. You just needed them to come in smaller doses than most people.

“I get it,” she said. “But are you sure? I mean, Jungkook is going to be there.”

“I know,” you said and, boy, did you. Him being there was basically the only thing you kept thinking about ever since you got home. “You can tell him hi if you see him. He knows who you are.”

Inna scoffed. “Yeah. As if I can just approach a member of Parental Advisory and start a casual conversation.”

You gave her a look. “You can. It’s the mindset that these people are better than you that’s stopping you. It’s also what keeps them thriving.”

“I know,” she said, “but still. I’m arriving to the party alone this time, and I’m not really a member of their group yet. I need to know my place.”

“Inna—”

“Yeah, alright, I heard how that sounded,” she stopped you before you could lecture her again. “But you know what I mean.”

“Are you trying to get me to come with you out of pity?”

She smiled despite herself. “Well, it worked before.”

You shook your head, smiling at her sneaky attempt. “Get out of here. And have fun!”

“I will,” she promised, spraying some perfume on her wrists before she left. “I’ll keep you updated on what Jungkook is doing.”

“Please don’t stalk him on my behalf,” you cringed, which was, clearly, her intention as she laughed.

“Everything I do,” Inna sang in her best Bryan Adams voice as she exited the room dramatically, “I do it for you.”

You wished her good luck one more time before she closed the door of the dorm and hurried down the hall. 

You didn’t often get to have your dorm room all to yourself so, as soon as she left, you exhaled in content and sprawled across your bed, your laptop resting on your hips, the first season of American Horror Story starting on the screen.

You got through the first few episodes before you had to pause the show and go find yourself a snack. Never having too much actual food in the house, you and Inna always made sure to stock up on snacks, and you returned to the bedroom with a box of Oreo's and a pack of Maltesers. Very content with the current state of things in your life, you continued to watch the show while you unwrapped the box of cookies.

Sometime in the middle of Episode 4, you thought you heard your phone vibrate but, by that time, you were already dozing off and assumed that it had to be a figment of your imagination. Still, just to be sure, you patted the bed with your hand, searching for your phone, and then gave up a minute later when you couldn’t find it without getting up.

Another few moments later, the buzzing sound returned and this time, you were sure of it – someone was calling you. Groaning, you lifted your head off the head rest and cursed yourself when you saw your phone on the furthest corner of the bed. Pausing the show, you set your laptop aside and reached for the vibrating device with a painful strain of your muscles that were aching to sleep now.

They woke up almost immediately after you noticed the caller’s ID, however.

Clearing your throat with wide, surprised eyes, you picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Hi!” Jungkook’s voice was so high-pitched that you didn’t recognize it at first and were about to double-check if it was really him calling you when he continued, “I’ve tried calling you but you weren’t picking up.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry, I—I didn’t hear,” you explained lamely. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s perfect!” he replied. He couldn’t have made his drunken state more obvious if he’d tried. “Wait, no. No, it’s not. You didn’t come.”

Every emotion he was trying to portray with his words was exaggerated as he spoke in a purposefully whiny tone. It tugged at your heart strings and you had to pull the phone away from your face so you could clear your throat again.

“No, I…” you said but the ball of excitement was still stuck tightly in your throat. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah but I thought you’d change your mind,” he said and then loud shuffling followed, “oh—whoa—!”

You blinked. “W-what happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m—yes! I slipped,” he laughed breathily and you nearly suffocated from the sound, “I’m really drunk.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you said, standing up from your bed in hopes that walking would help you calm your beating heart down. “What happened to being responsible?”

“I am being responsible,” Jungkook countered.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” you replied just humorously enough so he’d know you weren’t actually angry or disappointed in him.

But he wasn’t in the mood to over-analyze your words as he seemed to bring his phone closer to his lips to say quietly, “hmm, you should have come then, so you could keep an eye on me.”

The accidental – or purposeful, for all you knew – ASMR had you gripping the windowsill for support.

“I didn’t realize you needed a babysitter,” you tried to play it cool.

“I don’t. I just need you,” he said automatically and your whole body lit up like an artificial Christmas tree. Jungkook reacted first, however, as he tried to back up, “uh, here, I mean. At the party”

“I got it,” you lied. The only thing you got was that Jungkook was just as capable of putting you in a trance over the phone as he was in real life. “I, um… I don’t really do parties.”

He shuffled – probably switching the phone to his other ear – before asking, “what do you do?”

“I like to stay in,” you answered, pacing around your room. “Watch a movie, maybe.”

“Okay,” he said, no longer as bold. “Maybe next weekend we can do something you do together, then?”

It felt like you’d swallowed your own heart and it was now beating all over you until your whole body was buzzing. “Uh—”

Thankfully, an unexpected overjoyed screeching sounded in the background of the call, distracting you both and providing you with the perfect opportunity to get out of the grip his question had put you in.

“S-shouldn’t you go check that out?” you asked with a nervous chuckle. “Sounded important.”

“Yeah, I’m—I’ll go check it out,” he agreed hesitantly, concluding – drunkenly and, most likely, incorrectly – that he’d stepped over the line. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

Struggling to speak, you only hummed in approval, “mmhhm.”

“Okay.”

But just like before, outside of your dormitory, neither of you wanted the conversation to end. Despite you making it awkward by not answering his proposal – he shouldn’t have thrown it at you so unexpectedly – you did enjoy the fact that he’d called – when he had so many other people around him to talk to – and didn’t want to hang up just yet.

You two allowed the silence to settle on the line as neither of you seemed to find a way to break it. You kept thinking about his question, kept replaying it over and over in your mind, and the more you thought about it, the more frightened you became. You’d already given your all to him once before, but he decided he didn’t want you to do that anymore. He didn’t need you anymore.

You didn’t want to spend the few upcoming years exploring the boundaries of your friendship with him, only for him to decide -- once again -- that he didn’t really want to be with you anymore.

And yet, even though your heart was on the line here, you still refused to hang up the call.

“Jungkook?” you said quietly.

“Yeah?” he answered right away as if he was waiting for you to say something – and he was, really.

“Oh,” you exhaled. “I thought you went to check what happened.”

“No. I’m here,” he said and you heard him swallow. “It’s probably nothing interesting.”

There was no way it wasn’t interesting – you could still hear the sounds of excitement in the background of the call – but Jungkook found himself much more intrigued by the sound of your breathing as you tried to find what to say.

“Okay,” you said and then prepared yourself for another round of silence – only it didn’t come.

“So, uh, hey, tell me about these movies you like to watch,” Jungkook changed the topic in a slightly more upbeat voice and you chuckled in relief.

“You already know all about it,” you said. “I used to force you to watch them with me.”

“I wouldn’t call it forcing,” he disagreed. “It’s not like I did it against my will.”

“You sure made it seem so,” you reminded him.

“Well, you can’t expect me to go down without a fight,” he said. “If I remember correctly, you always wanted to watch horror movies. It’s not good for my dignity when you don’t flinch during the jump-scares and I’m the only one actually getting scared.”

He did remember correctly – so his mind did function semi-properly even when he was intoxicated – and you couldn’t stop smiling. You must have looked like a lunatic. You felt like a lunatic.

“Yeah, you were always a scaredy cat,” you teased.

“Bold of you to say so when you had me climb through your bedroom window to get rid of the spider that was blocking your door,” he said and you gasped, having had him swear that he’d never mention the incident again.

“I was ten!” you protested. “That’s also how many legs that monstrosity had.”

“Spiders have eight legs,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly and then mocked your previous teasing voice, “you were always one to exaggerate.”

You rolled your eyes but the grin did not fade from your lips.

“Thank you, though,” you said before you could change your mind. “I don’t remember saying that after you got rid of it.”

Jungkook was smiling, too. “No. I only remember you sprinting downstairs as soon as you could open the door.”

“That’s because you chased me around the room with the thing,” you pointed out, Jungkook’s teasing ‘come on, just look at it!’ still fresh in your memory. “Actually, that might be why I never said thank you.”

This got him to laugh. “Yeah, that’s probably why. In my defense, I was just trying to help you deal with your arachan—arach—ah, for fuck’s sake. With the fear of spiders.”

“Is it the alcohol getting to you?” you asked, giggling as he stumbled on the word.

“It must be,” he admitted, “but, really, I feel fine. Responsible drinking! Like I told you.”

“And you’re still having fun?”

Clutching his phone closer to his ear, Jungkook nodded to himself.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, “I definitely am.”

“So, in conclusion, blackout drinking is overrated,” you said knowingly.

“It’s—” he started but then stopped abruptly. You could hear his name being called in the background.

“You should go back,” you said then, feeling like, if you weren’t going to hang up, he wouldn’t either.

“Yeah, it’s starting to look like they won’t give me any other choice,” Jungkook said. “I’ll see you soon, though, okay?”

“Yeah,” you said as if that was obvious, “see you.”

“Give me a call if there’s a spider that needs my attention,” he bit one last time and then hung up as soon as you finished laughing – he couldn’t hang up before, it was simply impossible for him to pull away from the speaker of his phone when you were laughing.

You stared at your phone for at least a few minutes after the call ended, still beaming. There was a juxtaposition of feelings brewing inside of you: you were excited about receiving his call – even if it was a drunken one – while still holding yourself back from (re)developing any sort of connection with him out of fear of it all ending as abruptly as it had before.

But, as you put your phone down and returned to your previous spot on the bed – no longer tired enough to fall asleep – you figured that you were really more excited than you were afraid. Because, all things considered, you and Jungkook were no longer in the ninth grade. And maybe it’d prove to be difficult for you to fully open your heart again, but you couldn’t dismiss the possibility that, eventually, you could have Jungkook in your life again.

Three more episodes of American Horror Story later, you were positively dozing off. You did want to finish the first season – and you came so close – but your eyes were already closed for half of the last episode you’d watched, so you decided it’d be best to go to sleep. However, as soon as you turned the laptop off and got up to brush your teeth, you heard the door of the dorm open.

Poking your head into the hallway, you yawned just as Inna stumbled inside – and flinched, grasping at her chest, as soon as she saw you – dropping her keys onto the floor.

“Jesus, don’t stand there in the dark,” she hiccuped, leaning down to pick her keys up while you turned the light of the hallway on. She lost her balance on her way back up and had to lean against the wall to stand.

“Wow, you’re properly drunk,” you said, feeling another yawn coming but resisting it because it was starting to look as though you wouldn’t get to go to sleep just yet.

“Nooo,” she whined. “I didn’t drink that much. Just—just a little. A small little drink.”

You smiled at her description and took her keys from her. “Let me get those. You get yourself to bed.”

“Oh,” Inna sighed wistfully as she leaned against the wall of the hallway instead of doing what you’d told her. “You should have really come with me. It was fun.”

“Yeah, I bet it was,” you replied. “Come on, off to bed now—”

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.

“Inna—”

“I have Yoongi’s phone number,” she giggled drunkenly.

“Alright, good for you. Now, let’s—”

“Can I tell you another secret?” she said again and her expression turned grave. “But, shhh, shhh, you can’t tell this one to my roommate.”

Confused how to proceed from there, you hesitated and then ended up choosing not to encourage her to keep going. You’d eavesdropped enough in the past week so the maximum number of secrets that you knew but weren’t supposed to know was reached.

“That’s okay,” you told her, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders to help her return to the bedroom. “You can tell me tomorrow.”

“No, no, listen,” she disagreed, allowing you to guide her towards the bedroom – and then nearly falling face-down on the floor after she trusted you blindly and ended up stumbling over the threshold of the door because of it. “I saw Jungkook.”

She started to giggle like a madwoman then and you thought that was the whole secret but as soon as you helped her sit down, and squatted in front of her to remove her shoes, she kept going.

“I’m really sorry,” she said, her hand coming to rest on the top of your head as she brushed your hair affectionately.

“Sorry about seeing Jungkook?” you asked absentmindedly, too focused on the removal of her heels to pay attention.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “He was coming over here.”

You managed to pull one of her shoes off and dropped it in surprise.

“What?” you asked. “He was coming here?”

She nodded and you stood up, giving the room a once-over. If Inna was serious, and Jungkook was coming over here, there was no way you were going to let him into your room – it looked very much like a cozy pigsty at the moment.

“With a girl,” Inna added then, “she probably lives here.”

Blinking as you tried to digest this new bit of information that she had dramatically withheld for a whole minute, you felt your stomach sink with heavy disappointment.

“He’s, uh—he’s going over to some girl’s place?” you asked, returning to your previous job of removing Inna’s shoes.

“I think so,” she nodded and, judging by her voice, she was already falling asleep, but she still didn’t forget to mention, “but don’t tell my roommate. She’s just starting to be friends with him again.”

Your hurting heart would have disagreed with her – a friend wouldn’t have cared whom her friends were sleeping with – but you kept your eyes on the floor as you took her heels off and picked them up to carry them into the hallway.

“Don’t worry,” you said. “I won’t tell.”

keep reading | masterlist

[alexxdes]

The Strong Don’t Cry

Summary: Jacob breaks the silence by asking about Pratt’s family, something that’s relatively normal yet seems so out of place given their situation. Pratt tells him a bit, and assuming it to be just another way of getting more information to use against him, is taken aback when Jacob actually responds with his own story.

Note: I have not written a single thing in ages and I have no clue what this is. Enjoy.

———————————————————————

“Where’s your family, Peaches?”

The question breaks the heavy silence the two men had been sharing for the past few hours very suddenly. Pratt, from his position next to the door, hands clasped at his front, pauses for a moment, taken aback.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“I said-“ Jacob places the paperwork he had been filling out into a file and switches to a new one, “Where’s your family? You have one, don’t you?”

This is surely some kind of test, Pratt thinks, and for a moment he considers what exactly Jacob could be trying to gain from asking this. Trying to find some new weakness to exploit maybe? Something to use against him?

Doesn’t he already have enough of that?

“Yeah.” He says simply, taking care not to let his offense at the sudden interest in his family life be so apparent as to piss the larger man off. “Of course I do.”

Jacob lets out a little hum of acknowledgment, and still without looking up from his desk replies, “They live around here?”

This further proves Staci’s theory, although he isn’t sure what to do about it. Being held here by Jacob, being under his constant scrutiny, you learn just how cunning the man truly is very quickly. Especially considering he spends every single day getting into people’s heads, breaking them down until they’re nothing but a mindless soldier for him to use as he pleases.

Point is, Pratt isn’t stupid himself. He may have been changed very significantly in the time he’s spent at the Veteran’s Center, he may be merely a fraction of who he used to be, but his will wasn’t completely broken. Not yet at least. He made sure to keep a fair amount of it hidden away someplace in the back of his mind where he hoped to god Jacob wouldn’t find it. Then again, he thought, maybe that’s what Jacob’s after somehow. To take what’s left of who he is and keep it for himself.

“No. They cleared off a few months ago, when your people started getting worse.” He didn’t see any other option than to just tell the truth and see where things went from there. Jacob has a funny way of telling when you’re lying. Pratt certainly learned that soon enough, anyways.

Jacob didn’t say anything, and he was still looking down at his goddamn desk. Staci wasn’t sure he had looked up from it for hours, and somehow he took the silence as being Jacob’s way of showing that he was unsatisfied with the answer in some way.

“I’ve got a sister who lives in Missoula. I think my parents went up that way, and my brothers went with them.”

Jacob made a subtle little expression, one that Pratt was sure meant he was considering what he had said, taking note of it. The thought made him very uncomfortable, but other than that there was no response for a good minute or two. At first he thought that maybe Jacob was just going to leave it there, let it hang out in the air just to drive him crazy. He didn’t, though, instead he stopped working on whatever report he had been writing and turned his head ever so slightly to look at Pratt.

“Do you miss em’?”

A simple question, really, but startling nonetheless. Pratt thought about it for a minute before coming to the realization that he actually hadn’t thought about it much. There hadn’t been time since the crash, the only thing he had the chance to think about was his own survival.

Was that it? All this just to break Pratt even more? To make him miss his family who he’ll probably never see again? It pissed him off, quite frankly, and somewhere deep down he accepted the fact that he probably wouldn’t see them again. And even if he did, it’s not like he would be the son they knew anymore. No, he’d be a stranger. They’d look into his eyes and see nothing but empty. Probably best they never have to experience that heartbreak.

That’s not what he said, though. Instead Pratt stared at the floor and tried not to cry.

“Yeah.” He said softly. “I do.”

What he was expecting to happen was for Jacob to take that information and sit on it. Or maybe even start mocking him for the vulnerability, further subduing the man. What he wasn’t expecting was for Jacob to leave whatever he’d been working on and stretch, finally turning to face the other man.

“Yeah. I know what it’s like to miss your family. Not know if you’re ever gonna see em’ again.”

Staci just stared with an unreadable expression, and Jacob continued, clearly not looking for any sort of permission to do so.

“It was the happiest day of my life when Joseph found me again, after Iraq. I could’ve died a happy man right then and there when I saw John standing there with him. I was real proud of the man he’d become even if he was a goddamn idiot back then.”

He pulled out a pack of smokes from one of the drawers under his desk and lit one before taking a long drag.

“I finally had a purpose again. Do you know what that’s like? Not having any particular rhyme or reason to even be alive?”

When Pratt didn’t respond, he scoffed.

“Of course. You probably didn’t realize it. Hell, you still probably don’t. But I can guarantee that being apart of this project is the first worthwhile thing you’ve done your entire goddamn life. Not for nothing, Peaches, but when we first met you didn’t strike me as the type that ever knew what the hell they were doing.”

He was right. Of course he was right. Staci had only become a cop to help him get whatever pretty young thing he noticed from across the room’s number. He only did it for the status, the uniform, not because he had a passion for it. He never had a passion for anything, but it didn’t give Jacob the right to be so fucking right.

“No, I didn’t. But I can tell you right now this “project” isn’t for me.”

It was little acts of rebellion like that that kept Pratt sane. Kept him from completely forgetting who he is, or rather was. It’s just about all the breathing room Jacob would allow. Though maybe that’s the point. To give him hope that he could really get to Jacob, only for it to fall flat on its face without the satisfaction of any real response.

Jacob laughed, this breathy, humorless thing and leaned back in his chair.

“You say that now, but you’ll come around. Hell, sometimes I don’t even know if I believe in all this stuff Joseph goes on about, but I do know that this world is done for. And I don’t know about you but I’d like to be prepared.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Pratt asked, desperate at this point for any reason as to why Jacob would open up like this to him.

“Figured we should get to know each other a little better.” And with that he flicked off the light on his desk and walked toward the bed, gesturing for Pratt to go to bed too.

[turtletimewriting]

The First Steps Into the Adventure (Patton partners with Janus)

Summary: well it would be no good telling you what happened!

Note: AAH! Okay, I can’t really believe how many people interacted with this! Thanks! Right, so this is still basic introduction stuff, I’ll admit. This is a bit clunky but I want to give as many chances for this to be interactive as possible. 

The decision will be presented at the end!

Once again, this is inspired by fluffomatic’s tickle forest idea!

Previous Part!

_._._

Patton screwed his face up in concentration, carefully evaluating them, before he lit up and pointed at Janus, “You’re on my team, JanJan!” 

“Well good luck on your journey, lover boy,” Janus taunted with a smirk as he walked to stand beside his team leader, Virgil quickly punched his hat down over his eyes as he scampered off as well. He was violently blushing as he approached Logan and he managed to give a friendly smile. 

“Great! Now just two more things to do!” Roman announced with an elaborate flourish.

“How much more to this is there!” Janus frowned to which Patton tweaked his side as a warning.

“Well if you wish to adventure blindly without your map and a hint, then that’s up to you!” Remus cackled as he chucked paper at them violently.

Logan frowned at their map, beyond it’s very apparent unprofessionalism, it seemed fairly straight forward. It was simply one long winding path to a large childishly scribbled ‘X’. He expected something a bit more detailed from a joint creativity project but maybe that was yet to be seen. “Is my map the same as Patton’s?” 

“Yeah, if it’s like a race thing then I’m out,” Virgil snarked.

“Nah, see your map goes down this left road and Patton’s goes to the right,” Remus answered.

“Ah I get it. Left brain goes left and right brain goes ri...” Logan mumbled off as both creativities looked at him blankly. He may as well be speaking Spanish... well if Roman didn’t speak Spanish. Maybe they weren’t quite on his level of genius. 

“Anyway!” Roman called out and magicked two sealed envelopes, “Now it wouldn’t be fair to just send you into this world without any warning. So we randomly selected two of our fantastical beasts... or one of our plants to inform you of.”

Logan perked up at that- maybe the detail would be in the inhabitants of this adventure rather than the adventure itself. Patton handed the envelope to Janus as he had a very bad habit of sucking badly at opening envelopes. Janus wordlessly and without even looking, hooked his finger under the flap and opened it in one swipe. 

“What is it!” Patton squealed.

“Give me a second,” Janus answered with a glare at Logan’s team. He hooked his arm over Patton to turn them so there was no way that Logan’s team could cheat and look at their sheet, “Also be quieter. I don’t know about you but I truly don’t care about winning this.”

It was a very short page from what looked like an encyclopaedia but the information was very limited and basic. Not that they would be complaining.  

A picture showed a huge ‘Little Shop of Horrors’-esque plant monster. Remus’ influence was pretty easy to see. Janus doubted Roman would ever want to create something like that, but he did smile as he recognised that Remus would never have the monster be this pretty looking. Clearly they were much better working as a team. The plant had gorgeous pristine white petals framing a pastel pink ‘face’. The page was titled ‘Motherbloom’. 

“A large flower that’s queen of the tickle forest. She pins down her target and lifts their shirt to deliver a long raspberry on the tummy. She also uses her vines to tickle at other areas. The leafy sacs around the base of the flower holds air she uses for raspberries. The white flowers on the bush carry an intense pollen. Scientists discovered that if this pollen is transferred to other plants, the plants offspring will become tickle plants.”

Patton released a squeal that only dogs could hear. “Patton!” Janus hissed as he tried to wrangle his team leader under control.

“Ah! Aren’t you super tickly to raspberries JanJan?” Patton launched into a hug and quickly pressed a small raspberry to his neck; which totally didn’t send Janus squealing himself. 

“Aw man, you guys got the motherbloom! May come in handy that,” Roman peered over their shoulders. 

“I thought you decided which ones we got?” Patton asked.

“No, it truly was random. We put everything we created into a list and used a number generator to chose which one everyone learned about.”

“Wow, that is... very thorough of you both,” Janus complimented. Roman blushed violently at the very small compliment and awkwardly shrugged it off. 

Logan opened the envelope with a summoned letter opener and quickly withdrew the page. He frowned as he realised this was probably ripped directly from some book. Virgil leaned on to his shoulder casually to peer at the page; therefore making his brain shortcircuit. How dare his boyfriend be so casually cute and affectionate. How was he supposed to work in these conditions. Virgil already looked quite beautiful on this day. Despite how rushed he was to get ready for what Roman and Remus planned, his makeup exaggerated his slightly sleepy eyes and of course his bright almost neon green and purple eyes looked as striking as ever. He was all bundled into his jumper just in case their adventure got too cold and he was mindlessly nuzzling into the front. He was... “Well this isn’t a whole lot to go off on?”

“Wha...” Logan perked up again and stared at the page. It was titled Tickler Jelly. 

“These jellies are attracted to pool toys and swim up to them. If a person is easily targetable, they will latch on and begin tickling the target with its four large feathers.”

It showed some very typical jelly fish with obvious feathery fluttering stingers near the centre with normal, presumably, non-stinging stingers that are used to latch on to the victims. It was pink and undeniably adorable so Logan concluded this was probably a Roman creation. But then again, jellyfish were quite intimidating animals so maybe Remus suggested the concept itself. 

Remus had walked over to them with a shrug, “Would you’ve rather we didn’t give you any information to go on?”

“Well no but we may not even go into water so really this isn’t any good!” Virgil frowned.

“And now you know what could be lurking in the water! I’d stop whining if I was you! This was totally random, I don’t control what you lot found out.”

“Right! Teams!” Roman teleported back on to the platform and stood on his throne, “I wish you the best of luck in your adventures. Your journeys will be long and treacherous. But you must keep in mind that your treasures are waiting for you. If you keep a sharp eye out, you may even find hints along the way to help unlock your treasure. May the best team get to the treasure quickest. Good luck teams!” 

Roman and Remus clapped dramatically and the whole stage puffed into a wave of technicoloured smoke. 

The same stage that everyone was standing on. 

They all fell to the floor with grumbled swears. Both teams awkwardly stared at the other before Janus leapt to his feet and dragged Patton down the path. Logan, seeing this, immediately pulled Virgil into his arms and sprinted down the dusty path ahead of them. The game was on.  

Patton and Janus raced ahead until they lost sight of the other team and settled quickly into a walk. “Right, so what do we need to do?” Janus asked, he figured he better play the game properly and actually pretend that Patton made a good team leader.

“Just follow this path. By the looks of it we have to follow this path which takes us into a wooded bit then across a river before getting to the treasure. Simple!” Patton chirped as he charged on ahead. 

The world was just as beautiful as any other the creativities had created before. Despite it being the evening, it was still a warm day with a gorgeous clear blue sky. There were a few streaks of bright white clouds and there was only enough wind to prettily rustle the leaves of the trees. It was beautiful. The path was taking them past a bit of a thicker grassy bit. Trees dotted along their path with thick bushes of ferns and dry yellow grass that stretched up to their waists. 

Janus frowned as he saw the path was still tilting around a section of trees. “Can I look at the map?”

“Sure.” Patton handed it over without any fuss. 

“Yeah, wait!” Janus pulled them to a stop and pointed to the path they were following on the map. The map clearly showed that the path they were following was awkwardly circling around the wooded bit. It would probably take double the amount of time to follow the path or just cut through the wooded bit. “We should just cut through this wooded bit. We’ll end up back on the path and probably cut off a good ten minutes.”

“Oh yeah!” Patton stared at the map before flicking up to look at the path, “but we have no idea what could be lurking in the forest ready to tickle tickle tickle us!” He was wiggling his fingers and curling up to Janus. To which he totally didn’t blush. Of course he got partnered up with the literal tickle monster.

“Yes but then again we have no idea what could be on the path. We seen some butterflies flying around, any one of them could be planning an... attack on us. I don’t think we’ll be in any more danger if we cut through. Plus, don’t you think it would be in Remus’ nature to punish us for following the boring predictable option?”

“Well, we should figure this out soon. The more time we stand here arguing, the more time we are wasting...” 

Meanwhile... with Logan’s team!

“Right. Now the most logical decision would be to analyse the map and decide which is the optimal route to travel. Knowing Patton, he will be following the map blindly,” Logan pulled Virgil to a stop and summoned a compass so to actually use the map effectively. 

“Yeah but he also has Janus with him. We have no idea what they could be doing,” Virgil awkwardly tried to conceal just how hard he was panting from the short run. Logan ignored him by examining the map and looking up for any identifying features. 

“Okay so by the looks of it, we can follow the path through the plain fields ahead of us. Or we can quickly jog over that hill and there will be a public garden.”

“Why would we go through a garden?” Virgil frowned and yoinked the map away from him. 

“Well right now we are at the mercy of whatever the twins have organised,” Logan stated.

“Yeah you don’t need to remind me. Us even standing still right now could be the opportunity this weird world is looking for. We could be standing in the middle of an ant hill for all we know!” Virgil whined but Logan pressed him into his side with a gentle smile.

“All good points. I’m just saying the field could contain anything for all we know while a flower garden would only contain flowers. Therefore we know to avoid loitering and interacting with the flowers and it could be a straightforward path forward. They both lead to the same place,” Logan reasoned as he guided them slowly forward. 

“Do you want to go through the garden?” 

“I think it’s worth considering. However, I could never outshine you in thoroughly considering our options. I’ll leave the decision up to-”

“Too much pressure!” Virgil laughed and burrowed into his chest. 

“Okay then,” Logan murmured, “we could continue through the field and face whatever they have planned. Or we go through a flower garden and know we have to face tic... plants. Hmm...”

And so the adventure has fully began!!

Should Patton and Janus:

A) Follow the path.

B) Cut through the wooded bit.

Should Logan and Virgil:

1) Go through the field.

2) Go through the flower garden. 

[eat0crow]

Jasonette first meeting please?

I’ve written a couple Jasonette first meetings already but I was scrolling through a prompt list and -You just snuck into my apartment and wait is that blood-stuck out to me. Hope you enjoy!

This fic was beta-read by the lovely @the17thtearoom

Is That Blood

Kwami knows that Marinette is a scatter-brained mess no matter what time of day it is. She would like to deny it, but really, no one would believe her. She blames Tikki, even if she was a disaster before the little fortune god came into her life. Nino has the proof, and has justly been sworn to silence.

There is never a need to relive the fourth grade. Never.

There’s a general swirl of chaos that follows Marinette wherever she goes: Paris, London, New York, now Gotham. It’s one of the reasons, maybe even the reason that despite desperately needing someone around to help out with the rent—Gotham charged way too much for a studio apartment, how the hell is it more expensive than Manhattan—she’s never looked for a roommate. Not after spending a month bunking with Alya, and driving the girl insane.

Alya hadn’t been the one to ask her to leave, she’d claimed Marinette was fine. Marinette had seen the way her eye twitched after the fourth time, in a week's span, she had come home tracking some dark, vaguely sticky substance behind her.

For the sake of their friendship, Marinette had moved out a little over a week later.

With this in mind, Marinette thinks she’s being overwhelmingly okay with the situation when her first question, upon stepping foot back into her apartment, happens to be, “Is that blood?”

Not, “how did you get in here”, or “who are you?” Is that blood? When did her life get this weird? Oh yeah, when she—a newly turned fourteen-year-old girl—was entrusted with guardianship over some of the most powerful deities in creation. That’s when.

It’s only after watching the man for an uncomfortable amount of time that Marinette notices the sickly crackling of unnatural magic clinging to the air around him. There’s a pool of dark magic sitting in her living room. It’s coating him, clinging to his very being and dripping, toxic, onto the pale beige carpeting.

God the carpeting, blood stains are a bitch to get out. At least he had the sense to push back the coffee table, and not sit on the couch that Marinette’s fairly sure, has been in this apartment since before she was born.

The stranger pauses his stitching mid-action, needle freezing halfway through the gash on his leg. Marinette is concerned.

“No, it’s cranberry juice,” he says sarcastically, even as he presses a towel, her pink bunny towel no less, against his leg. It’s clearly an attempt to hide the murder scene she just walked in on, but honestly, the towel is turning a disgusting shade of rusty brown.

Marinette takes one fortifying look around her living room, paying particular attention to the sticky wet spot her home invader is sitting in. He had better not have touched her one true love. If the coffee maker is broken she will break him.

“You should finish stitching that up before you bleed to death all over my carpet.”

“I’m not going to bleed out in the middle of your living room.”

Marinette grabs her emergency first aid kit, the one she keeps tucked safely in the umbrella stand. It’s a beast, and maybe Marinette had been a little obsessive when it came to putting it together, but she had spent a good portion of her life fighting. She liked to be prepared, even if being prepared meant carrying around a walking pharmacy.

Delicately, Marinette did her best to avoid mashing the blood further into the carpet. “I have a tourniquet in here just in case, but it doesn’t look like we need it. You did remember to disinfect the cut before you started stitching, right?”

She’s close enough now, knelt next to the man, to really make out his features. The pressure she forces down on the wound makes him wince, and Marinette blinks. Green eyes, there’s an aura to them that reminds Marinette distinctly of Tikki’s magic, a faint light just barely visible—Lazarus light. Well, that explained the corruption clinging to the air.

“I didn’t think you would be too thrilled with me poking around your bathroom,” he hisses out, sharp and very clearly in pain.

Marinette would usually let a lie like that go, but her patience is getting dangerously thin. “You could have spent another minute grabbing the peroxide from the medicine cabinet. It’s not like I can’t see your bloody footprints marking your trail. You grabbed my favorite towel, but not the one thing that prevents a staph infection. Who taught you first aid? Honestly! ”

A dark brow raises upward, clear interest taking over the strangers face. “You’re remarkably calm for someone who just found a random stranger dripping blood all over their apartment.”

“I’m more than a little pissed over that. You owe me a carpet cleaning.” Marinette grabs the travel-sized bottle of peroxide out of her kit, along with her sterilized needle, lighter, actual stitching thread—why the fuck is he using dental floss? Why?—and a roll of gauze. She’ll probably need more later, but for now, this is good. “You’re giving yourself way too much credit. This isn’t even close to the strangest thing I’ve seen this week. Now, this is going to sting like a bitch, but you broke into my apartment so, you deserve it.”

He lets out a long string of curses, biting down hard on his hand as Marinette pours the disinfectant over the wound. It’s a good three inches long and at least a centimeter deep. He needs a hospital but, seeing as his first choice was breaking and entering, Marinette’s probably as close to a professional as he’ll see.

“Fucking shit,” he grounds out around clenched teeth. Marinette has to take out the stitches he’s already done. They’re uneven and sloppy, probably because he’d been using the needle from her sewing kit. She slips her surgical scissors, the fresh pair she just held under her lighter, against the floss. His face loses all color as she carefully works the four rows he made out. “I know you’re pissed, but I don’t deserve this.”

Marinette casts him her most deadpan expression as she lights the curved stitching needle on fire. “Who's the dumbass who didn’t disinfect his—what? Stab wound? It looks like a stab wound, do you have any idea where that knife could have been? You’re lucky I’m nice enough not to let you get a blood infection.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Nice enough. You’re a regular ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who broke in.” Marinette takes satisfaction in stabbing her needle into the skin and watching as his smirk turns into a grimace. “How did you get in here anyway? The front door was still locked.”

“I kicked in the back door,” he admits, with just the faintest hint of shame. “It was hanging on by a bolt and a decades worth of rust.”

“You’re lucky you’re already bleeding.”

“I was in a hurry, okay,” he says defensively. “My friend lives in the same apartment number one complex over. I apparently was off a bit with my directions. I promise, I don't usually break into random people’s homes.”

“Guess I’m just special then.” Marinette has to hide her smile by occupying herself with cleaning up. She’s angry at him, damn it!

“I’ll fix the door for you if you want? And I’ll pay for one of those rug doctors Walmart rents.” He carefully stretches out his leg. He’s a bit unsteady on his feet. A mix between pain and blood loss no doubt. Wordlessly she offers up a bottle of Tylenol.

She regrets handing it to him a nanosecond later when he takes a double dose and then, throws back a third for good measure.

“Oh, you’re going to be paying my cleaning bill all right, but the door can wait,” Marinette says, getting up, and heading over to her kitchen. There is no problem in the world food doesn’t make better. “You look like you could really use some breakfast, and I’ve had nowhere near my daily dose of caffeine. We can figure everything out after we’ve eaten.”

The man follows her over, leaning heavily against the wall to support his weight. It’s a sorry sight. He makes an aborted move to help her before deciding that nope, he really can’t stand for all that long. “Did I tell you how weird you are yet? I feel like I should have.”

“Would you rather I call the cops and kick you out?” Marinette asks, pushing the coffee maker to the very edge of the counter. He can reach it if he tries. Marinette fully plans to make him. With a bit more force than necessary, she slams down her jar of coffee mix. “Clearly you’re lucid enough to make some coffee while I fry up some eggs.”

There’s a spark of amusement in the stranger's eyes. His smirk is back, and he watches Marinette with something like glee. “Sure thing, firefly.”

“It’s Marinette,” she corrects, not bothering to turn away from the stove. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’d say it’s nice to meet you but...you did break into my house.”

“That’s fair,” the stranger agrees. Reaching for her phone instead of the stack of coffee filters. The bastard, doesn’t he realize how thin her sanity is stretching? “Jason Todd. You mind if I use your phone for a minute. Roy can stop by Home Depot, and get you a new door. So we won’t be reinstalling something that was already on its last legs.”

Marinette feels a headache coming on. “I’ll make enough for three then. Just have him pick up some kind of cleaner so the stain doesn’t set in.”

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

One of these days I’ll remember to crosspost all these chapters.  Anyway here’s Chat and Rena bonding

XXX

Adrien awoke to the sound of the shower running.  

“Nngh… Plagg?”  He mumbled, only to remember that he’d slept transformed.  Ladybug’s handmade masks were great, but his tended to slip off his face if he turned over in his sleep.  The last thing he wanted was for her to pay an early-morning visit and discover his identity.

Not that Ladybug ever visited their secret base in the mornings.  But he kept hoping anyway.

The water was still running.  Had the metal plate behind the colander come unlatched?  It was more reliable than the plunger they’d originally installed, but it could still be finicky.

He stretched before rolling off the couch.  If the shower had turned on by accident, he’d better fix it before all their water ran out.  Ladybug didn’t want to use Longg’s powers more often than necessary.

He shuffled over to the bathroom door and— 

“Hey, creep!  What’s your problem?”

Adrien jumped back and blinked, and his eyes finally focused on the orange fox hovering in front of his face.

“Trixx?”

“Duh.  Why are trying to barge in on my holder?  Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?”

“Wh—I didn’t know she was here,” he said honestly.  “What’s Rena doing here at” —he checked the clock on the microwave Carapace had bought— “five in the morning?”

“Plumbing maintenance at my apartment,” Rena’s voice filtered through the door over the sound of running water.  “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Er, uh—sorry!”  He backed away from the door and parked himself on the couch again.  Somehow he hadn’t thought through the implications of having a shower in the base.  Sure, he’d used it several times—but more often than not, he was the only one here.  It felt weird to be sharing the space with Rena Rouge, who he still didn’t know that well.  LIke suddenly getting a new roommate.

He’d never had a roommate before.

He shouldn’t complain—he’d come here because there was a chance he’d have company.  Even when he didn’t, the underground base felt more alive than his sterile apartment, with its grey-washed walls and decor supplied by his father’s new interior design line.  As if his living space was just another walk-in advertisement.

Besides, this was where he’d left his Switch.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”  Trixx asked, spinning circles around Adrien’s head.  “You homeless or something?”

“What?  No.”  He shook his head, trying to get rid of the dizziness.

“Huh.  Rena and Ladybug think you are.  Since you’re always here.”

His cheeks flushed.  They’d talked about him?  It was almost sweet that they worried.

“Plus, you’re always buying fancy stuff, like your video games, and the expensive take out boxes you always leave in the trash, and the shampoo that smells like roses—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

“—I mean, it would make sense, if you blew all your money and ended up on the streets.  Or under them, I guess.”  Trixx shrugged.

The kwami had a point.  Maybe Adrien should curtail his spending if he didn’t want to give away his identity.

“It’s nothing like that.  I just get take out a lot because I’m not much of a cook.”

“Finally, something the amazing Chat Noir is bad at.”  The door opened, revealing Rena Rouge in ripped jeans and a denim jacket with an Anansi logo sewn over the shoulder.  Huh.  He’d never pegged her as an MMA fan.  Her hair was still wrapped up in a black towel, but she’d slipped her mask on over it.

“I keep meaning to learn,” he said.  

Marinette would probably be willing to teach him, but she was always busy with classes or projects.  Nino had practically called him a lost cause after he’d managed to burn a grilled cheese.  He knew Alya was an amazing cook, but he worried a little about how incompetent he’d look next to her.

“Then today’s your lucky day.”  Rena smiled, spinning a spatula around her finger.

“You—you’d do that?”  Adrien perched on his knees, crossing his arms over the back of the couch.

“Why not?  You’re afraid you’ll burn the base down?”

He probably wouldn’t.  At least the walls were solid stone, and there weren’t any maids who would report his mess to his father.

“That face isn’t very reassuring,” Trixx said.

“Don’t worry, he’ll do fine.”  Rena yanked him up by his arm.  “Trixx, will you plug in the griddle?”

“Aye-aye, Captain Rouge!”  The kwami saluted and connected the hot plate to the extension cord.

Rena grinned.  “Arrrg, excellent job first mate Trixx!  Now, hoist the cooking spray!”

Trixx searched the shelf and pulled out the metal canister.  He popped off the lid, which went rolling off across the floor.  Rena picked it up and put it on the kwami’s head like a little hat, and they both laughed together.

Adrien found himself smiling too.  He and Ladybug had definitely made the right choice in letting her keep her miraculous full-time.

“Alright, swashbuckler Chat.  Your turn at the helm.”  Rena Rouge positioned him in front of the griddle, then sprayed down the surface.

“What?  Already?”  His eyes widened.

“No better way to learn than by sailing straight into the cannons.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure there’s a lot better ways to learn.  Ways that don’t involve getting exploded.”  He didn’t even know how to work a griddle.  There was a knob on the side with numbers.  A temperature gauge?  And there was some kind of tray sticking out of the bottom.  He didn’t have a clue what that was for.

“Just don’t Cataclysm anything and you’ll be fine.”  Rena patted his arm.  She grabbed a carton of eggs from the polka-dotted fridge and set them on the counter.  A bowl and a whisk joined it; she really had stocked the whole kitchen.  All he’d contributed was some blackberry ice cream, which he ate straight out of the carton.

“Alright.  No Cat—”

She slapped her hand over his mouth.  “Don’t say it!”

“Right, right.  My bad.”  He blushed.  He really was a disaster.  Good thing Ladybug wasn’t here to see him like this—not that she’d be surprised.

Rena shook her head with a chuckle.  “I can’t believe I ever thought you and Ladybug were cool.”

“Hey!  Ladybug’s very cool.”  He put his hands on his hips.

“Okay, Ladybug’s still cool.  But admit it.  You’re both just big doofuses under those masks.”  She poked his nose, at the spot where his mask met skin.

“Joke’s on you.  We’re doofuses even with the masks.”

She laughed.  “Fair enough.  It’s comforting, though.”  She cracked an egg into the bowl.  Why she was putting it there and not on the hot surface, he didn’t know.  “I’m just a normal girl outside of the mask.  It’s nice to know you guys are the same way.”

“I can’t say I’m a normal girl, but I get what you mean.”  He grinned.  “It’s funny.  Carapace told me the same thing.  I guess we lose some of our mysterious appeal when you look too closely, but… I like that.”

“Really?”  She cracked another egg, then washed her hands under the tap he and Ladybug had set up.  

“Yeah.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want people to trust us.  But sometimes people expect too much if they don’t see our flaws, too.”

She pressed a whisk and the bowl of eggs into his hands.  “Stir.”

He nodded.

“That makes sense,” she said in response to his earlier comment.  “Illusions can be useful, but they don’t hold up under pressure.”

“Exactly.”  He stirred the eggs.  Not fast enough; Rena took his hand and demonstrated how to beat the yolks to a runny mixture.

“Cheese, milk, and bacon bits, First mate Trixx.”

“Arggg,” he said, disappearing into the fridge.

“You do like cheese and bacon, right?”  Rena asked Adrien.

He smiled.  “Who doesn’t?”

Once Trixx delivered the ingredients, they mixed them into the egg goop.  It looked pretty gross, like a soup gone wrong.  But Rena instructed him to dump it on the griddle anyway.

The mixture sizzled on impact.  Man, that smelled way better than it looked.

“We’ll flip it in about a minute or two.  Omelettes cook pretty fast.”

He stared at the eggs as they slowly turned from translucent yellow to opaque white.  It was soothing, watching tiny bubbles pop as the change took place.  Why had he been so nervous about cooking again?

“This really is your first time making eggs, huh,” Rena commented. 

“That obvious?”  He blushed a little.  “It’s pretty much my first time making anything.”

“You sure you aren’t homeless?”  Trixx asked, poking his stomach.  “You look like you eat enough.  But every kit should know how to feed himself.”

Adrien’s ears and tail drooped.  He really should know.  If he ever wanted to cut ties with his father and his company, he’d need to live more frugally.

“Don’t give him such a hard time.  There’s a first time for everything.”  Rena brushed Trixx aside, then handed Adrien a spatula.  “Here.  Flip the omelette.”

She said it like an order, but she was smiling.  He thought he could hear the message hidden behind the words: I’m not going to judge you.  I know you can do it.

After living under the weight of his father’s doubts, it was a breath of fresh air.

“Thanks.”  He smiled.

(It wasn’t just for the spatula.)

XXX

“So, you spend the night here a lot?”  Rena asked as they ate their breakfast.  She’d taken off her hair towel, and it hung on the back of her chair to dry.

He shrugged.  “Not too often.”

By that, he meant he slept over five nights out of the week rather than all seven.  Nathalie still came to check on him every Tuesday, and Thursday evenings were spent with his old bodyguard.

“How’d you learn to cook like this?”  He asked to change the subject.  The omelette was light and fluffy in his mouth, with just the right amounts of salt, pepper, and cheese.  And it had only taken them around five minutes.

“My mom’s a pretty amazing cook.  She had me flipping omelettes before I learned how to walk.”

Adrien tried to keep the wistful look from his face.  His mom had always had chefs to cook for them, even before she disappeared.  If he’d ever asked, would she have had recipes to share with him?  Maybe Aunt Amelie would know.

“This was fun.  Makes up for how sucky my morning started, at least a little bit.”  Rena smiled, cleaning the rest of her plate.  She took Trixx’s too; she’d placed the kwami’s breakfast on a little saucer.

Adrien still wasn’t done—he’d wanted to savor the first (edible) food he’d cooked himself. 

“I’m sorry you had a rough morning,” he said.  “Anything I can do to help?”

“You can do the dishes, catboy.”  She winked and slung her bulky purse over her shoulder.  “I’ve got to hit the road.  Can’t miss the sunrise, or I’ll have gotten up this early for nothing.”

“Sunrise?”

“For my photography portfolio.  Nice shots of superheroes are one thing, but but I’ve gotta have a little bit of diversity.”

“I didn’t know you did photography,” He said. Of course, there was a lot he didn’t know about the other heroes.  “You should get some of your photos developed.  I bet they’d make this place a lot brighter.”

“Not a bad idea.  This place could use some livening up.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder before calling out, “Trixx, let’s pounce!”

Orange light washed over her, replacing her outfit but leaving her purse and fake mask.  She hung the mask back on its hook before pushing open the door.

“And Chat Noir?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re here for you.  Me, Ladybug, Carapace—if you ever need anything, you call us, alright?”

She might have phrased it as a question, but her eyes said it was an order.  It felt… weird, having someone other than Ladybug worrying about him.

But he could get used to weird.

He smiled.  “Alright.”

Maybe they didn’t need photos after all.  The room already felt a little brighter.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

AHHH I MISSED PROMPTS! How about we give someone in Stonebreaker something they desperately need. 22, nap!

Micro Story Prompt

In which I, once again, fail to deliver a micro story. (1453 words SHAAME).

                                         ---------------------------

“Hey, Delver... can we stop for a bit?”

The heat was unbearable. Oppressive. Smothering. So much so that Delver trudged a few more steps, deep in the trance of just putting one foot in front of the other, before he even realised Sylda had opened her mouth. By the time he lumbered to a halt, the young woman was already veering off the road, her pack half-slung, dangling from her elbow. “What?” He blinked slowly, glancing around the roadside. Red dust. Brown grass. A scattering of rustbark trees. “Right here?”

Divider, he felt like his head was about to split open. Whose bright idea was it to make the sun so damn... well... bright.

“Mhm. Why not?” Sylda, the brat, was already dragging out her spare cloak. Deftly, she shook out any stray pieces of grass before laying it down again beneath the thick branch of one of the rustbarks. The squat tree, its copper leaves drooping like a miser’s purse, cast its shadow at a long, wide angle. They still had a few hours of light left. It made no sense to stop.

Delver opened his mouth to say as much, only to turn and find Sylda already lying on her back, one leg kicked over the other, her foot bobbing, shoeless, in the late afternoon heat. He stared for a beat. And another, bemused. Then, with a defeated sigh, he shook his head and trudged over, boots grinding against road until the sound was replaced by the snapping of brittle grass.

“What, no argument?” Sylda seemed genuinely surprised. He supposed that was fair enough. On a regular day, he would have a number of choice words at the ready, but right now his head hurt enough to turn his empty stomach inside out. So instead, Delver just grunted, dropping to the ground, not even bothering to put anything beneath him. He wrapped himself in his cloak and leaned back against the rustbark’s knotted trunk. As always, it was about as comfortable as lounging on a bed of river rocks, but for some reason it didn’t bother him so much. The shade alone, like a salve against his throbbing skull, was worth the rest of the discomfort.

”Twenty minutes,” he said, and tried hard to keep the relief out of his voice as a gentle breeze trickled around the tree, curling the edges of his cloak. Merciful Divider. He failed to stifle a yawn. “After that, we keep moving.”

“Forty,” Sylda countered. Because of course she did. “I’ll keep watch for the first half while you take a nap. You can do the second. Deal?”

Delver would have sent her a vicious glare - Divider knows she deserved it.

But, lucky for her, his eyes were already shut.

                                                ---------------

Delver awoke, disoriented, to the sound of birds. Groaning, struggling onto one elbow, he nearly yelped like a startled maid when something slid from on top of him and landed with an indignant rustle in the grass.

A cloak?

His cloak.

When had he...?

As his consciousness slowly rejoined reality, Delver glanced around. A few feet away was a pit, lined with stones, the smoke of a freshly quenched fire curling from its charred center. A pot hung above it, filled with water, about a cup short of full.

And, perched atop the already packed coil of her sleeping roll, was Sylda.

How had she managed to boil an entire pot of water in twenty minutes?

“Oh, hey- you’re up.” Turning, alerted by his attractively waking grunts, Sylda threw Delver an innocent smile. It called forth just the right amount of dimples to disarm even the sternest opponent. It was the exact smile she used when she was up to something. “Feeling any better?”

As much as Delver wanted to chastise her, he found himself lacking the willpower. Again. Oddly enough, this time it was because he didn’t feel like a mule had kicked him in the head.

He really was losing his touch.

“I’m fine. I was fine yesterday, too.” Sitting up, wincing from a night spend on dirt and stones, he mustered the effort to cast her a disparaging look. “You didn’t keep watch all night, did you?” He wasn’t sure what would make him angrier. Camping roadside was dangerous at the best of times. One of the biggest benefits to traveling as a pair was having a second set of eyes readily available. If she’d stayed awake, she was an idiot. If she’d dozed off, she was a reckless idiot.

Sylda shrugged, before climbing to her feet and moving towards the pot of water. Well, at least she'd put her boots back on. “It’s alright. I sleep well most nights.” She left out the unspoken unlike you, which was unusually tactful for her. “And before you start snapping at my neck, it was an accident, okay? I got all stuck in my thoughts and forgot to wake you.” She scooped a ladle of water into a cup. The water was probably still pleasantly warm. “You didn’t even snore for once. It was actually peaceful.”

While that was a valiant attempt to distract him, Delver refused to rise to her obviously false bait. He didn’t snore. He had that on good authority. “It doesn’t do either of us any good if you’re exhausted either,” he chided, stiffly accepting the offered cup. “You won’t be able to concentrate on your lessons.”

The water was a sweet, sweet mercy. His throat felt thick and dry with dust. It coated his skin, his hair, darkened the underside of his nails. Divider’s Own, he couldn’t wait to be rid of it. Away from the dust storms, and the burning heat, and the shadeless stretches of sun-cracked road...

He lost himself so thoroughly in the simple act of drinking that he completely missed that Sylda had spoken.

“I said,” she repeated with a roll of her eyes, “that you’ve been in no shape to give me lessons these past few days anyway, so what does it matter if I’m a little tired?”

The urge to argue rose like a flood within him. In fact, Delver spent a good half-minute in stony silence trying to come up with a remotely feasible defense. But, like with most things lately, it just kept slipping through his fingers. He might not be in crippling pain, but he still wasn’t himself. As much as he loathed to admit it... she might have a point.

“Oh!” Clearly immune to his resentful silence, Sylda tugged up her sleeve, her fingers making short work of the leather straps binding the anchor to her wrist. “Here. I took it off you while you were sleeping. Figured I could try practice a bit overnight, but...” She faltered, some of the brightness in her dimming as she turned the ebenite disc over in her hands. Delver waited silently, partly because he still felt a little too raw to speak, partly because he assumed she had more to say. But instead, she just sighed and handed it over, her eyes fixed on the brown grass at her feet. The shame radiated off her so intensely it was almost palpable.

“Drawing from any anchor isn’t easy, Sylda.” The disc felt right, strapped safely to his wrist again. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed its absence the moment he woke. “And drawing from Ebenite? It’s practically impossible at the best of times. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here, doing what we’re doing.”

More importantly, if she truly couldn’t do it, she wouldn’t be here. Alive. Breathing. Mothering him despite being ten years his junior.

“I know, I know.” With a heavy breath, Sylda kicked at the stones near her feet. “I just... I don’t know. I have the anchor, and I have you. I figured I’d be able to do something by now.”

You and me both, Delver thought, but kept it to himself as they lapsed into silence. She self-applied more than enough pressure without him adding to it. He might be a belligerent asshole, but he liked to think he knew when to ease off. “We should pack up,” he said after a time, sensing they both needed a distraction. As Sylda nodded and stood again, his gaze followed her, a slight frown tinging his brow. “You’re... sure you’re not tired?”

His kindhearted concern was met with an entirely unnecessary groan.

“I’m not, Delver. Really - I feel better than fine. It was just one night. I’ve stayed up for longer before, back when I was in Yelen.”

Just one night. Sure, if they were lounging around eating grapes and reading poetry, he might accept that. But they were on the road, traveling all day in the dragging heat of Latesun. It just didn’t add up.

Then again, he had to admit, she really did seem fine. No heavy footsteps. No dark circles beneath her eyes. No sluggish reactions as she went about clearing up their makeshift campsite, bundling utensils, kicking dirt over the fire, re-scattering the stones. She wasn’t even yawning, even though she had been the day before.

Slowly, Delver’s gaze drifted down to the anchor. It was warm against his wrist. As warm as usual? It was hard to tell, with the day’s heat already climbing fast around them. Regardless, he made a mental note to pay closer attention in the future. Something could be happening right beneath their noses. Something subtle enough that they could comfortably blink and miss it.

“So are you planning to watch me do all the work, or...?”

Snorting, Delver waved an acquiescing hand and struggled to his feet, muscles protesting the movement, aching from a night spent curled on the uneven ground. “What, you mean your goodwill only lasted one night?”

He barely caught the ladle as it went spinning towards his head.

[bnha-soulchild-au]

Aizawa has so many children

“Yo Sho’ has that soulmark always been on your back?” Hizashi hollered from the other side of the changing room. They were in their third year at UA, and about to change into their gym uniforms as Hizashi called attention to the mark.

“No?” Shouta deadpanned, a slight curious inflection to his voice. He walked over to the mirror to observe for himself, Hizashi’s comment had drawn the attention of some of the other members of their class, though most minded their own business for the moment, choosing to listen from where they were changing themselves. All of them except for one. Tensei Iida walked beside Shouta to get a closer look.

It was in a particularly awkward spot, such that he couldn’t really get a good look at it even with the mirror. It was on his back right above his left hip, so no matter how he twisted, he couldn’t see more than a dark blob before he stretched himself too far, and had to stop.

“I can’t see it, what is it?” Shouta asked, his curiously officially piqued.

“It looks like an explosion?” Tensei commented. Hizashi came around to get a better look at it himself.

“OOOOOH SHO’ it’s got RED!” Hizashi cheered excitedly. There were a few mumbles across the changing room at that. “It’s got a cute little red heart~”

“Is that significant? I’ve never had a mark before.” Shouta asked bluntly.

“Yeah, it’s a big deal. Black is standard, but marks with red are the kind of relationships that last for life, you know.” Tensei explained, he took out his phone and snapped a photo of the mark for Shouta to see for himself. Shouta took the offered phone from Tensei and looked at the image with a mix of wonder and curiosity.

“I suppose that this is a kid that I’ll meet one day, isn’t it?” Shouta commented wistfully.

“That’s awfully optimistic of you Shouta.” Tensei snorted as he went back to finish changing.

“Of course you’re gonna meet them, it’s fate after all!” Hizashi smiled brightly at him.

———————

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Shouta remarked with a fair amount in incredulity at his reflection.

Hizashi was snickering in the corner, clearly trying to contain himself but simply unable to because of the sheer ridiculousness of the circumstance.

It had been just under six months since he’d gotten his first mark and now he had eleven. Two more of which had red and one that was GREEN.

It was fucking green.

He’s asked both his friends, and the great wealth of knowledge that is the internet and no one has ever heard of a green soul mark.

Regardless, it meant that there were eleven children out there born in the last six months that were bonded to him for life.

Shouta, Hizashi, Nemuri, and Tensei were all standing in the quite large bathroom of the Iida household, with a wall to ceiling mirror. Which Shouta took his shirt off once again to make doubly sure he wasn’t seeing things.

Shouta who always kept as many layers on as humanly possible around other people couldn’t help but stare at just how many of them there were. Eleven. It seems like a small number if you just say it but when you're looking at a mark on your body for each individual it feels like a lot.

They hear crying in the distance, and Tensei stands up and straight up runs for the nursery. Speaking of children born in the last six months, Tenya Iida was the newest addition to the Iida household. They just happened to be babysitting the small child.

“I’m coming, Tenya!” Tensei called as he activated his engines to move faster.

“Oh my god are you kidding?!” Nemuri starts to laugh. “‘Doting Parents’? Nah, we just got a doting big bro over here.” Nemuri teases after him.

“Oh shut up, you!” They hear Tensei retort from far down the hallway.

“Ooooh~ I want to meet the baby Iida.” Hizashi cooed.

“Let’s go then!” Nemuri grabs Shouta’s hand before he can throw his shirt back on. “If we hurry, we can get there before Tensei puts him back to sleep.” She drags Shouta out the door. He gives a faint grunt of protest at not being able to finish dressing but settles for draping it around his neck.

They make it to the nursery just around the corner to see Tensei bouncing with the infant in the nursery, clearly distressed.

“Man, I can’t get him to stop crying. I wish the little guy could just tell me what’s wrong.” Tensei said in the stereotypical baby talk voice and the group cringed.

“Never talk like that again.” Shouta demands, a frown on his face but still speaking quietly. Tenya screeched and stretched in every which way, squirming. Tensei tried to shush the baby sweetly but Tenya was having none of it, the shushing only seemed to aggravate the child more and soon it was kicking and screaming. For such a small baby it sure was strong. Shouta didn’t like where this was going, so he positioned himself to catch the baby if Tensei would lose his grip.

Just as he got into position the child fell into his arms, slipping out of Tensei’s grip. He gasped when he lost grip of the baby and Shouta fumbled a little awkwardly with the child until he had a safe grip on him, then began to pace.

Already the child was quieter and calmer and Aizawa figured that he must be doing something right even if he’d never so much as seen an infant before, let alone held one. So, he just kept going, Tensei watched in a bit of awe and Nemuri had a far-too-smug look on her face.

“Well look at Mr. Wonder Child, be honest have you done this before?” Nemuri asked with a sarcastic lilt to her voice.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but no.” Shouta answered absentmindedly, looking over the small creature in his hands. The baby’s heaving sobs had quieted to breathy sniffles. Strangely, the child was also looking right at him. It felt odd to hold eye contact with a child for so long, but it also felt familiar, in a kind of deja-vu way. He knew he was only an infant but he could swear he could practically see the intelligent young man he would grow into just through his steady, wide-eyed gaze.

The broke his gaze, no longer any trace of tears in his face, other than the slightest reddening to the cheeks. Tenya laughed, his gaze suddenly focused on something other than his gaze….

...it was focused on his chest. Tenya patted and lightly gripped at him in a place that could hardly be called a coincidence. It was right on one of the soul marks directly on his chest. It was black a silhouette of a shoe with wings. Tenya giggled as he patted lightly at it and as his hand stood still for just a moment. Shouta saw a blob of black on the top of his hand, he gently took the hand so it would stay still for a moment and saw that it was a soulmark.

It wasn’t just any soulmark either, it was a black cat asleep with its tail hanging off the side of whatever it was sitting on. It was so simple yet elegant, it was truly adorable seeing it on such a young baby. What struck him was the feeling he got while looking at it. It was entirely indescribable, it was a serene sense of warmth and familiarity. Somehow, he knew that this boy was one of the eleven soul children he had gained in the past few months. Even more, if he had to guess, the kid’s mark was that shoe right on his chest. That cat was his own mark, the mark he’d see on every child of his he managed to find.

Shouta barely registered the hand waving in front of his face, or his friends calling his name. It was easy to disregard them, until the hair on the back of his neck shifted and he turned around in the blink of an eye.

“ShoooooooOOO-“. Just as Hizashi was about to start to use his quirk to get his attention Shouta erased it and his voice cut to silent almost immediately. Hizashi’s face lit up and he was first pumping like he had just won something. The way he was moving, if he let him go now, he’d probably just scream anyway, he gave him a chance to calm down, then let him go.

“There’s an infant here, are you trying to permanently damage his hearing?” Shouta glared daggers at Hizashi.

“Bro, you had me worried, you were like, totally unresponsive.” Hizashi griped, good-naturedly.

“Yeah I got lost in thought for a minute there, but that hardly warrants-“. Shouta began, when Nemuri interrupted him.

“Ten.” She said bluntly. “Ten minutes Sho’.”

Shouta blinked at her, and was quiet a moment then, quite astutely said. “Huh.”

Nemuri scoffed at the reaction shaking her head, and Mic just laughed it off and shrugged.

He glanced back at Tenya, who was now sleeping in his arms, and gently placed him in the crib.

“How did you do that?” Tensei whispered, looking completely baffled. “Even when he’s in a good mood I can’t put him to sleep that easily.”

Shouta looked up at Tensei, then shifted Tenya just slightly so he could point out the soulmark. “That’s mine.” He said without elaboration, or explanation. Then walked out of the nursery without looking back.

Tensei’s eyes widened and he gasped, and Nemuri and Hizashi who had also witnessed the interaction were left gaping at the small child.

They all stared at the sleeping newborn for a long moment.

Tensei caught himself first and chased after his friend, completely forgetting to lower his voice in the shock of all of it. “Sho!” He called. “Sho, how do you know?!” He called after him. “Shouta! You can’t just say that and leave!”

Nemuri and Hizashi followed suit not long after Tensei, going to chase their elusive friend.

[disworl]

Alive, indefinitely.

I.

So, since I’ve been dutifully informed that since this is my blog and I can post hwhatever I want, I thought I’d talk a little about my ‘fic ‘Alive, indefinitely’.

The ‘fic was birthed by me realizing the implications of Hussie’s revision that all burgundy bloods have the ability to commune with the dead. For the most part, I dislike his changes where the trolls from Homestuck proper become near stock representatives of their entire bloodcaste, but at least, this one has compelling subtext instead of just seeming lazy. And it is that the bloodcaste that has the ability to commune with the dead is also the bloodcaste that lives the shortest and is the most likely to have friends and acquaintences who die often.

And who better explore that topic than Aradia? So I wrote the ‘fic, and it did branch out to be about her, partially as her role as a rustblood on Alternia. And so it grew bigger than just exploring the subtext. I knew I wanted it in little numbered parts that made vignettes, as I’d been working on writing longer stories and was worried I was losing my edge in vignettes and short fiction. Though the resulting ‘fic ended up 1,677 words (I intended to keep it under 1,000, though I’m not disappointed!), I’m still very satisfied with it and think the vignettes work. With the numbering of the vignettes, I also wanted to do an sort of Epileptic Bicycle and start skipping around numbers, to show that there was different amounts of time passing, and that things were happening in between. And because I just thought it was neat. The idea of a story with missing numbered chapters is very compelling. And anyway, I did have a skip, with the penultimate vignette being 5, and the ultimate being 10 (which upon thought really does make the ‘a lifetime later’ after the 10 work out mathematically*), but it played nowhere near as a big role as I would want to. Maybe some other time.

*Which since all the numbers are roman numerals, 10 ends up being ‘x’, which as a symbol is associated with death. I planned none of that (or at least I don’t remember it consciously) but I will take credit, regardless.

II.

For a second I thought Tumblr was more competent than it is, so I tried to insert a line break, but Tumblr is not competent, so have a fancy second section with big roman numerals instead.

Anyway, I’m just going to note and comment on some specific parts of the passage, because I can.

The internet is wide and wonderful, and it is through there that she learns about archaeology, the wonders lying just beneath the ground and thinks, to be an archaeologist would be an awfully grand adventure.

What Aradia thinks is a fairly straightforward play on the phrase, ‘to die would be an awfully grand adventure’. It's a neat way to both tie back the theme, and it also spared me from figuring out exactly how to phrase it.

She finds especially good company with one boy, his troll tag resting at the top of her chumproll. He’s a rustblood like her, a bit reserved but passionate about the mystery book he’s writing. Occasionally he sends her snippets from it, and while it’s a bit clumsy, he is always eager to hear about her archaeological expeditions, so she never mentions it.

When I wrote this part, I suddenly realized I needed an unnamed rustblood to die. I also realized it would be a good idea to also characterize him a little bit before killing him off, so you get at least the idea of what his and Aradia’s relationship was like, so I decided to use one of my long-derelict fantrolls.

So she starts to rebel. She grows her hair out, longer than the modest shoulder-length cut she had before. She lets it become wild, a sign of her own spirit and power. She starts painting her lips and lining her eyes in burgundy, a mockery of the high bloods who wear their blue hues as a fashion statement.

This is a combination of two of my headcanons about Alternian society: that long, wild hair is seen as a sign of power and sexuality (as expressed by the Condesce and other highbloods), and that wearing hemo lipstick and eyeliner is a high blood fashion trend.

When she is five sweeps old, she makes another close friend. He’s a bit shy, but unapologetic about what he likes – his fiduspawn collection, pupa pan, FLARPing – and that, as much as she loves Sollux, is a breath of fresh air.

Tavros is often done dirty by fanfic and fan-interpretations of Homestuck, and it often intertwines with apologism for Vriska and her abuse of him. He’s treated as a perpetually and naturally weak and insignificant, when having a person who is abusive like Vriska will make anyone unsure and rattled like that. It takes some digging, as the majority of Homestuck takes after Vriska’s batted around Tavros for quite a while, but underneath her abuse (and the effects from that abuse at the hands of Alternian culture) it’s clear that he’s still that unapologetically dorky kid, and even cocky at times. In his trollhandle adiosToreador, he’s not the Toreador - he’s the bull. And hopefully I could express that well in the space that I could.

She befriends Karkat through Sollux, and Terezi through Karkat, and it’s through Terezi that she learns about Vriska.

This is one of several sentences in this ‘fic that employ a certain sense of repetition and rhythm. Part of that is because it gives a motif of time, which is tied to death and destruction in Homestuck, and the other half is because I just... really like writing ‘em.

She still talks with Tavros, however, but now he’s uncertain, hesitant and ashamed, and a fair number of times when she trolls him he doesn’t reply, and when he does more than anything he talks about the things he’s experienced in his dreams, and she knows exactly who has been trolling him even if he doesn’t say it and –

– and Aradia watches her friend become a living ghost, bit by bit.

This is place where I forwent canon the most, earning the ‘fic its ‘mild timeline fudgery’ tag. Throughout writing this ‘fic I constantly had a tab open to either a page in Homestuck or the wiki, or both, in order to make sure I stayed as accurate to Alternian culture that I could (at least, in Homestuck proper). While there were a lot of gaps that I got fill in for myself, it’s just plain canon that Aradia sends the ghosts after Vriska immediately after she knows that Tavros is likely going to be paraplegic for the rest of his life. But I had written the sentence already (one of my favourite lines, really), and it just makes for a better story, at least in this ‘fic. So I kept it like that. There’s also a sort of cut-and-paste fudge in that sentence, too. I remembered that Tavros spent most of his time dreaming on Prospit just so he didn’t have to deal with Vriska’s abuse, but as it turns out, it happens after she god-tiers. So I just turned it into regular dreaming and thereby folded into the above canon discrepancy. But it’s definitely based on that later detail.

iv.

The shock of seeing Sollux actually at her hive is quickly overtaken by the shock that courses through her veins right after she realizes what is about to happen, and far too late to do anything about it.

I knew pretty early that I wanted the vignette of her death to be one sentence long, though I certainly ended up stretching that one sentence fairly far. Either way, it’s very isolated from the rest of the ‘fic, which is fairly on-par for the ‘fic style where a particularly hard-hitting or important sentence gets its own paragraph. Anyway, everyone knows how the story ends, and it’s sudden for Aradia, so I think putting it in one sentence both works structurally and artistically.

She’s tired of temporal inevitability.

She’s free of the endless orders and voices of the dead.

She, for the first time in her life, feels truly alive.

Instead of the pale shadows that clung to her hive, the hollow ghosts that people left behind, the dream bubbles are filled with countless iterations of her friends, and numerous others.

But even then, dying and waking up in foreign surroundings is a shock.

And really, there’s no-one else who would be a better guide to greet the dead.

At this point, I feel again, that going into detail would be dragging things out. I also wanted it to feel significantly different from the rest. So, where the other parts of the story are told through a sort of rolling tone of voice, through ‘the lens of age old history’ the rather straightforward sentences here are meant to sound very present.

[diminished-fish]

References for “A Portrait in Synesthesia”

This fic is COMPLETE now, so anyone who might have been hesitant to follow a wip, here you go! The whole synesthetic package, wrapped up with a nice lil bow on top. :3

For those who might have missed the masterpost: the fic was my contribution to the good omens big bang and is a sweeping, canon-compliant romp through history, told in (almost) all original scenes, with lots of nature imagery and T.S. Eliot. Kind of my own cold open, but with way more feelings and flowers. Also the sea. And an emotionally significant comet.

I had the opportunity to throw all of myself at this project and really enjoyed making it an intense focus for a while. In a way, it was an experiment to see how much I was capable of, which as it turns out, is more than I thought! (there’s a lesson here, probably...). Going this deep with the research and worldbuilding is not something I will likely be doing often for fic writing, but since I did with this one, I figured I’d share a bit of the process.

Under the cut are major spoilers for the timeline, story, and historic events in my recent fic, A Portrait in Synesthesia. I had originally planned to post this information in the end notes of the fic, but at some point, the list got way too long and posting it here became the sensible choice. There is a link to this post in the end notes of the fic, so it will be easy to find your way back here if you get to the end and want to know a bit more about the writing and research process. 

The Title:

Putting this bit at the top because I don’t know where else to put it: The working title for this fic throughout the entire writing process was “In Synesthesia.” I almost changed the final title in the eleventh hour to “The Still Point of the Turning World” because of what a prevalent theme Eliot became (that line was also slipped into the story three times at important moments — once for each POV character). I also briefly considered “Always, We Were Enough” as a title, since the conversation with Adrielle at the lighthouse kind of... accidentally became the thesis of the whole story, but that was a bit too sappy even for me, a Confirmed Sap. 

And while I’ll be questioning my choice of title for the rest of forever (titling things is hard, y’all), I ultimately thought the more descriptive title was best, and wanted to keep the nod to the song that inspired it all.

Speaking of the song... have you listened to it yet?? It’s great, I promise!

Synesthesia:

This was my research starting point. Before I dug into any of the historical or astronomical research or even started any serious plotting, I started reading about synesthesia, or, as Psychology Today defines it: the neurological condition in which the stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway (for example, hearing) leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway (such as vision).

Full disclosure: I do not have synesthesia. I spent a LOT of time researching it for this fic and did my best to portray it accurately, in spite of the fantastical elements I added. If I’ve overstepped or gotten something wrong and there are any synesthetes out there who would like to talk about it, I am very open to those discussions. The AO3 comments are always open to that, or you can message me/send me an ask here if you would like a less public forum.

I probably read r/Synesthesia in its entirety, but this thread of first-hand accounts was one of the most interesting to me and provided a lot of the inspiration for how I used the emotional synesthesia imagery. 

Besides everyone’s favorite research staring point of Wikipedia, this link is one I got from Boston University’s Synesthesia Project, and it is a pretty exhaustive list of research and books, as well as art and poetry about synesthesia. I have also been working my way through The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales, by Oliver Sacks which is the book that came most frequently recommended to me in my search. It’s an extremely approachable and interesting look at neurological conditions, synesthesia among them.

As it appears in the fic:

In a broad, generalized sense, Aziraphale and Crowley have a few types of synesthesia in this story. Obviously, I gave it a supernatural/celestial twist and a healthy glug of magical realism, but I did try to keep it firmly rooted in the actual condition. The types of synesthesia they have are:

Chromesthesia: they both have this. Sounds, specifically each other’s voices, have a color association

Lexical-gustatory synesthesia/emotion-flavor synesthesia: Aziraphale has this. Words (in this case, emotions, specifically Crowley’s emotional state) have a taste.

Odor-color synesthesia/emotion-odor synesthesia: Crowley has this. Words (again, emotions, specifically Aziraphale’s emotional state) have a smell.

One of the defining characteristics of synesthesia is that it is constant. If a synesthete connects the number 9 with the color blue, for example, then they will always connect them in this way. This was the major difference between real synesthesia and the fantasy synesthesia in this fic. The sensory/emotion connections for Aziraphale and Crowley changed in subtle ways as their relationship evolved through the ages.

The “binding thread” also had nothing to do with synesthesia. That was me wanting to make the spool analogy work for the body swap, baking it into the entire fic because I liked how the imagery fit with the synesthesia, and then leaning into the magic and the soul memory so hard that I fell flat on my face into magical realism. (A True Fact: I have spent a fair amount of time lying on the floor in the past 6 months, shaking my fist at the cute little plot bunny who grew fangs and claws and dragged me down a rabbit hole that ended up being 100k words deep). 

Anyway! Research!

Before I get into space and history and flowers... Yes, I admit to absolutely making up some wacky shit about Europa for the sake of fun banter and making a metaphor work. All those pre-Fall scenes on abandoned Earths are 100% a fantasy setting and I exercised the super fun right of a fantasy writer and embraced the worldbuilding (moonbuilding?). I also just thought Crowley would have delighted in tying a moon’s guts in knots, and Aziraphale would have delighted in the idea of whimsy-for-whimsy’s-sake. Please don’t lose sleep over the scientific inaccuracies.

Halley’s comet:

I promise not to bog this down with a billion comet facts, but there were a few particular things about Halley’s comet that had me gasping dramatically about how it’s “A.J. Crowley, but a comet!!” Specifically, it’s orbit and it’s structure. 

Halley’s retrograde orbit gives it one of the fastest velocities (relative to Earth) of any object in the solar system. I never explicitly worked the “you go too fast for me” line into the fic because I was trying to do original scenes (this particular story lived between the lines), but... just know that tidbit is there and join me in these emotional dire straits. If you like.

The comet’s structure is what is known as a “rubble pile”, meaning it’s made up of a bunch of smaller rocks held together by gravity (read: a hot god damn mess held together by stubbornness). 

As it appears in the fic:

The nucleus of Halley’s comet is shaped like a weird lopsided peanut. In fact, one could almost look at it and say it resembles a contact binary star, if such a thing could be a shriveled, misshapen pile of rubble.

Officially, Halley’s comet might have been recorded as early as 467 BC (a comet was recorded in Greece that year— unclear if it was Halley’s, but the timing and the fact that it was visible to the naked eye suggests that it probably was). This was the year I had Aziraphale making the scroll that causes Crowley’s panic in Athens (390 BC). I like to think that some human, at some point, caught a glimpse of it and tried to bring it to light, only to be written off as a crazed conspiracy theorist.

The apocalyptic depiction of Halley’s comet in chapter 9 (Bithynia) is actually based in fact. The comet made its closest approach to Earth (in human memory) in 837 AD, passing within 5 million kilometers. Its tail stretched halfway across the sky and it appeared as bright as Venus to the naked eye.

1910 Halley’s Comet panic. Bonus: c o m e t  p i l l s

Where 1910′s appearance was a spectacular sight and one of the closest approaches on record (coming within 22 million kilometers of Earth), 1986′s was the worst viewing conditions in 2,000 years. The comet passed within 63 million kilometers at its closest approach, and had the sun positioned between it and Earth, making it impossible to see from areas with any amount of light pollution, and almost invisible to all of the northern hemisphere. 

Historic events and settings:

Chapter 6 (Ostia): This was one of the chapters that I did a bunch of arguably unnecessary research for, since the history and the meat of the setting faded into the backdrop as the scene itself focused on dialogue and train of thought. The port town of Ostia was incredibly engrossing to read about, and between wikipedia’s ever-branching paths, ostia-antica.org, and ancient history encyclopedia’s entry, it ended up being one of the deeper rabbit holes I went down. My original intent for Aziraphale being in town was as a response to pirates sacking Ostia in 68 BC. I had him stationed there to guard against further attacks as the town rebuilt, and had him lingering because he was swept away by the romanticism of the art and the sea and the constant ebb & flow of people. I never found a way to work this in that didn’t feel super awkward and expository since the chapter was Crowley POV, so it was just left it as background noise.

Chapter 6 (pyramid of Cestius): Beyond being a magistrate of one of the four great religious corporations in ancient Rome (the Septemviri Epulonum), little is known about who Gaius Cestius actually was. As the city expanded, his lavish tomb was absorbed into the city walls (circa 3rd century AD), where it remains what he is remembered for to this day. I took most of my information from here (cross referenced with our lord and savior, Wikipedia) and had a chuckle at this poem by Thomas Hardy.

Chapter 8 (Plague of Justinian): The Yersinia pestis bacterium leaves no indicator on skeletal remains, meaning we rely on written records to track its path through history. The 6th century plague pandemic is the first recorded outbreak of bubonic plague, and for the purpose of our story, a certain distraught chronicler was the one on site, writing that history.

A note/cw: I wrote chapters 8 and 12 in October and November, respectively, and did much of my research for them over the summer. I imagine, given the current covid-19 pandemic, these sources would be less fun to follow up on now. Please be aware that the podcast episodes linked here, and the book cited in the miscellaneous refs section, get into pretty grisly details about illness and pandemics.

Chapters 8 and 12 (bubonic plague/The Black Death): I took a fair amount of my notes on bubonic/pnuemonic plague, specifically it’s path of destruction through Europe in the 14th century, from the two plague episodes of This Podcast Will Kill You. It’s pretty fascinating stuff and the Erins are great hosts, so check it out if you’re into delightful nerds bantering about epidemiology! 

Chapter 9 (the death of Peter of Atroa): Peter of Atroa was an abbot whose fame as a miracle-worker landed him in a scandal accusing him of exorcising demons by the power of Beelzebub, rather than God. Theodore the Studite’s letter cleared his name enough to avoid execution, but his reputation didn’t fully recover until after his death in 837 AD, when he was canonized as a saint. Peter and Theodore were tough to find extensive information on without passing through a paywall, so I took these scraps and ran a mile with them.

Chapter 13 (Tlatelolco, the Aztec Empire, the Feast of the Dead): I used this site as the source and starting point on much of my research on the Aztec Empire. And listen… I know it looks like a website for babies, and yes, I’m aware that a lot of the articles are literally written for a pre-teen audience, but it’s also one of the most concise, thorough, well-researched, and — perhaps most importantly — easily-searchable sources I found. Most of the pages cite papers and archaeological journals and I was able to jump to SO many other great sources of information. Mexicolore has my undying love and devotion for making my research process easy and fun and also having lots of pretty pictures.

Most of the physical descriptions for Tenochtitlan and Tlatelolco (surrounding landscape, canals and causeways, chinampas, etc.) started here.

Tenochtitlan and Tlatelolco were independent cities, but shared a border (kind of like a city and a suburb) and the small island on Lake Texcoco (located where present day Mexico City is). Tenochtitlan was the capital city of the Aztec Empire, and besides cross-referencing Mexicorlore, the link in the previous bullet point, and Wikipedia, I got a fair bit of information from these essays. 

Tlatelolco’s market was the major hub of trade and commerce, and saw 20-40,000 people trading PER DAY. Research on the market started here.

Chapter 14 (Terschelling and the Brandaris lighthouse): While I strove for historical accuracy as much as possible in this fic, I did take some liberties— especially with the island of Terschelling and the Brandaris lighthouse (yes, it’s real!) circa 1350-1435. 

The village of Brandarius is based on present day West Terschelling— a settlement founded as a direct result of the lighthouse. In the middle ages, both the village and the lighthouse were named after Saint Brandarius (or Brendan of Clonfert: ‘The Navigator’, ‘The Voyager’, ‘The Anchorite’, ‘The Bold’; patron saint of divers, mariners, and travellers). It’s still a relatively small village today, and it was a surprisingly difficult task to find historical records for Brandarius/West Terschelling dating back to the 14th century that say much beyond “it existed.” I loosely based the village off information found here, and named it “Brandarius” instead of “West Terschelling” based on the information found here. 

The original lighthouse was built in 1323, destroyed by the sea in 1570, and rebuilt in 1594. Since there were no records (that I could find) of what the original lighthouse looked like, I loosely based the height and floor plan on the current tower, and made up everything everything else about the interior. The interior was based on information about other live-in lighthouses, specifically this one which is roughly the same height as the Brandaris.

The present day Brandaris lighthouse sits directly in the middle of West Terschelling. For the sake of that sweet Self-Imposed Exile + Cryptid Lighthouse Keeper drama, I took the liberty of making my fictional village of Brandarius teeny tiny and setting it slightly apart from the lighthouse. 

Miscellaneous references:

In addition to the podcast, details about plague in chapters 8 and 12 were gleaned from the book The Great Mortality by John Kelly. It’s a cool read if you’re into nonfiction that reads like fiction, but does have some rather graphic passages so proceed with caution.

Yaretzi’s maquizcóatl/Aziraphale’s memento. To clarify, they were NOT the same item. I pictured Aziraphale cherishing the memory of the day by the lake with Yaretzi so much, that once he acquired the bookshop and had a place for all his kitsch, he hunted down a bad luck dragon of his own.

Here is the Aztec creation story about sun cycles and Earth’s rebirths that Yaretzi told Aziraphale. Another version of it.

In the scene in Mexico where Aziraphale briefly remembers, I used an analogy about a moment that hovers and flits away as “quick as a hummingbird.” Besides just liking the words, this was a nod to the legend of the cempasuchil flower. I originally had Yaretzi telling Aziraphale that story too, but the chapter was just way too long and something had to go.

In my very first outline, I had Aziraphale’s grief and personal growth chapter taking place at a Día de Muertos festival in Mexico. When the plot and the timeline finally got ironed out and I realized only half of that story was going to take place on Earth, I ended up focusing on Aziraphale’s brief relationship with Yaretzi instead of the festival itself (she was always the important bit). I also found myself married to the idea of that chapter happening in the 14th and 15th centuries, which meant the scenes in Mexico take place before Spain invaded and the festival was based solely on its Aztec roots. Because the plot shifted in this way, a lot of research went on behind the scenes that never made it into the fic, but for anyone interested in the Aztec Feast of the Dead, Mexicolore was my starting place again. From there, I found my way to reading about Mictecacíhuatl, the Aztec goddess of death, who was the main focus of the festival.

This isn’t research, but it might interest, like… three of you, so here you go. The scenes in Heaven (Aziraphale’s solo chapter in general tbh) were hard to write. One of those walls you hit with writing where you kick and punch and bang your head against it for months (literal months, I started wrestling with it in August and it didn’t come together until the end of January) but can’t seem to make any breakthroughs. Inspiration truly comes from unexpected places though, and when @gottagobuycheese sent me this Gregorian chant generator it actually… worked? I cranked that hum slider up to 100 and left it there for a few days (to the chagrin of my spouse) and lo— Zophiel.

There’s a cool legend about Saint Brendan of Clonfert’s sea-faring journey in search of the Garden of Eden that has nothing to do with this fic beyond being neat parallel. If that happens to be anyone’s cup of tea, the story is here. The tl;dr version is here. My original vision for the lighthouse included carved whales (St Brendan’s attribute) over the front door, and images from this story (the island of sheep, the Christmas island, the paradise island of birds) drawn on the walls of one of the bedrooms used by previous keepers’ children. Continuing the theme of “how stories echo” if you will. It felt really awkward and out of place once I wrote it in though, and that chapter was already so long once I got through all the plot bits I wanted, so it was left on the cutting room floor. 

Speaking of taking liberties with the 14th century, I did fudge the timing a bit on the art created by Crowley and Adrielle. Drawings, especially pencil sketches, have their historical roots in the late 15th century, and I’m chalking this one up to the fantastical setting of the Good Omens universe. In a fantasy world where angels and demons walk among us and the earth is literally 6,000 years old, I feel like inventing pencils 100 years early is small potatoes. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

This is the edition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that Crowley nicked in Norwich. There are some really wonderful illustrations and scans of full pages under that link. I may or may not have lost a few hours down that research rabbit hole for a few throwaway lines (no regrets, I fall like Crowley). 

One last rabbit hole...

I saved this bit for the end of the post since it’s not really research and I don’t know how interested people will be in this kind of thing. Also... this is a lot more emotional and personal than the historical aspects of the fic. This is just what I was feeling and thinking while I was writing, and this story is absolutely the kind of thing I expect everyone to take something different away from. If you read the fic, took your own meaning from it, and want to keep that meaning without me tarnishing it by babbling about symbolism (first of all, high five, I love you, thank you for hanging out with me and my stories), then feel free to skip the rest of this post. <3

But! For anyone who wants to know more about what I had in mind with the flowers and nature metaphors I worked into the story, read on!

The tag “it’s an OT3 where Earth is the third” is something I really worked to pull to center stage. In my mind, Earth was a fully formed character who also spent the pre-Fall storyline being jerked around by God and having its memory wiped. It experienced transformations, pain, heartbreak, joy, and love just like Aziraphale and Crowley did, and I wrote it as falling in love with the two of them over the course of the Earth Project, then remaining very much in love for the entirety of iteration 23 (the current iteration). “Memories that are buried in places deeper than the mind” referred to the soul imprints being formed, but also Earth’s buried memories— seeping through the cracks to connect them via synesthesia in emotionally charged moments, allowing them to find each other from orbit in iterations 20 and 21 (music and the sea), and pulling them together in moments of distress like Constantinople and Barcelona.

In the vein of “Earth as a character,” I used plants (mainly flowers), topography, and weather as Earth’s “voice” in the grief chapters when Crowley and Aziraphale were separated from each other and going through their individual arcs. I’m not sure it technically counts as flower language, since all the flowers featured in the fic were wild and growing in nature, but (almost) all of them served a metaphorical purpose.

Flowers:

Jasmine (for the moon): Aziraphale’s flower. Love, beauty, sensuality, good luck, purity. The rational hedonist.

Marigolds (for the sun): Crowley’s flower. Grief and remembrance of the dead, lost love, the fragility of life, creativity, winning the affections of someone through hard work. The fallen artist.

Purple Hyacinth: Earth’s flower. Regret, sorrow, a desire for forgiveness. The witness. These were the wildflowers that grew in the orchard/vineyard on the penultimate Earth, where Aziraphale and Crowley managed to work out the differences they couldn’t by the sea. Hyacinths are also the hazy images they would see in those moments of vulnerability, compassion, and compromise. 

A fun aside! In very early drafts, the placeholder name I was using for angel Crowley was Jacinto, which is a Spanish/Portuguese name meaning “Hyacinth.” It was meant to be a reference to both the flower and the Greek myth of Apollo and Hyacinth, but my brain absolutely could not disconnect it from Manny Jacinto (and kept insisting on imagining Crowley calling Aziraphale homie and calling everything dope). Eventually I leaned into the Latin and landed on Joriel, then attached my banner to the Achilles and Patroclus myth instead of Apollo and Hyacinth, but the name Jacinto still makes me think of starmakers.

Honeysuckle & morning glory, climbing the oak tree: Aziraphale + Crowley + Earth. Seen in chapter 10, when Aziraphale and Crowley shake hands on the Arrangement. Two plants whose vines grow in opposing spirals. In nature, they have a symbiotic relationship, twining around each other in order to climb trees, walls, and fences, allowing both of them to grow higher than they could alone. 

Or: local woman sees this tweet, hasn’t known peace since.

The deasilwise / widdershins (clockwise / anticlockwise) thing got sprinkled throughout the story, with deasilwise being the “angel direction” and widdershins being the “demon direction.” Halley’s comet, with its backwards orbit, orbits the sun deasilwise, even after Crowley becomes widdershins.

Amaranth: Immortality, unfading affection, finding beauty in inaccessible places. 

The garden in the dunes and Petya’s travelling garden:

Where Aziraphale took a methodical, Kubler-Ross approach to dealing with loss, Crowley’s process was meandering and chaotic. The garden in the dunes was where it all came to a head— his way of throwing all of his emotions on the ground like a big jumbled pile of pick-up sticks, then slowly sorting through them and putting himself back together. There was a whole lot of Earth/flower speech going on in those scenes.

With the exception of zinnias, the garden was made up of perennials or self-sowing flowers. This happened “off-screen” as I could never find a decent way to work it in, but... the zinnias which Crowley bullied into being perennials returned to being annuals and died off after he left Terschelling and sometimes I still cry in the shower about it. 

Zinnias: Adrielle’s flower. Endurance, lasting friendship (especially friendships lasting through absence), goodness, daily remembrance. This one is also a small self-indulgence on my part since Adrielle was something of a self-insert. My mother loves zinnias and, growing up, our house was absolutely surrounded by them in the summer. Anywhere there was a free patch of dirt, Mom planted zinnias. They’re a scrappy, weird looking flower that doesn’t have a smell and a lot of people find rather ugly... and I love them with my entire heart. There is no flower on this earth that fills me with more whimsy, nostalgia, or childlike contentment. Also butterflies love them.

Chamomile: Patience. Fresh chamomile flowers are very aromatic and smell like apples.

Daisies: Transformation. Also simplicity, loyalty, and new beginnings.

Poppies: Restful sleep or recovery, peace in death, remembrance.

Tulips: Each tulip color has its own meaning, but the most common thing they symbolize is deep love. That said, I mainly chose this one for their prevalence in the Netherlands, as well as being very colorful perennials.

Pansies: The love or admiration that one person holds for another, free thinking, remembrance.

Lily of the valley: Rebirth, the return of happiness. They also have a very strong, very sweet smell and can grow in cool climates. These were the main reasons I chose it, rather than any of the religious connotations.

Lavender: Silence, devotion, serenity, grace.

Orchids: There’s... actually no deep symbolism with this one. Nothing intended anyway. Orchids, lavender, and cranberries are the dominant native plants on the island of Terschelling. I thought they’d be pretty in the dunes.

I am also a music-must-be-playing-at-all-times kind of person and I came out the other end of this project with FIFTEEN (15) playlists. Some of them are all instrumental playlists that I used to set the mood while I wrote certain scenes/segments, others are lyrical and tell a story or helped me sort out the story, some chapters got entire playlists all to themselves (looking at you, 14th century). The main playlists are linked in the notes on AO3, but I may collect them all in a tumblr post at some point if there’s an interest.

This entire project was an enormous labor of love that took up pretty much all of my free time for six months. So, if you read this far... thank you for coming on such a long journey with me!! Truly, deeply, and from every corner of my heart, thank you for reading. <3